Echo
by RustyPaperclip
Summary: When Zimmer left Rivet City without him, the Institute stopped summoning him to come back. But 4 months 3 days 11 hours 12 minutes 29 seconds after re-activation, he had no idea why he was being summoned again. Butch/Harkness. Slash. WIP.
1. Prologue

_Hello. I hope you're doing great as you read this. I apologise for not uploading anything in a while. I probably should have written an update but… I've actually been working on some things, this fic being one of them. This is written for __**lilibombe**__ as a gift :). (Sorry this took so long, Lili. Hope you like it). She requested a scene and I sort of built the story around it. I haven't finished the whole thing yet; this is going to be around 10+ chapters (I remember saying the same thing and being grossly wrong…T_T. Forgive me if I am wrong again.) _

_This is rated M for mature situations and language. This is also slash. And this is not related to **Trouble** in any way. :D (Thanks, Lilly!)_

_That said, thank you for reading. I really appreciate it. And I hope you enjoy it. Onwards. _

* * *

**Echo  
Prologue**

Harkness had been human for 13 months 25 days 16 hours 12 minutes 59 seconds when he was told it was a lie.

He hadn't believed it at first. It was impossible. Androids didn't bleed and he cut himself shaving that morning. He had shoved the Vault kid away. Was close to throwing the kid off the ship - until the evidence was forced upon him. Until the photos were brought out. Until he heard his own recordings. Until the whispered code in his ear, _Activate A3-21 Recall Code Violet_, broke down the walls that separated the human from the synth. And he _knew_.

He was assaulted by every memory, fact, data, image. Everything about the world. About the Institute he left behind. About who he was: A3-21, the android hunter. Special. Unique. Irreplaceable. He was also bombarded by summonses. All 313 of them. Demanding his coordinates because they couldn't detect him. Telling him he 'had lost his focus', that he 'was clearly altered in some way' and 'needed to be fixed'. Informing him that 'Zimmer's in the Capital Wasteland' waiting for him. Saying 'come back'.

Still a bit shaken, he had trusted the kid to handle Zimmer. That night, he watched Zimmer leave the city without looking back at him. He had no idea what the kid told the scientist. Had no idea why the kid had done it. Had no idea if what he was feeling was relief. Good fucking riddance.

8 days 17 hours 26 minutes 43 seconds later, something in his chest snapped. He had glanced down his body, seeing nothing out of place, feeling nothing different but he knew something had changed. There was a pronounced quiet in some corners of his system where there had been noise. A distinct hollow, like some lights inside had just switched themselves off. Most of all, the Institute's summonses had stopped. They were no longer flashing red, just a quiet blue like the rest of his system. Just waiting for him to decide what to do. He erased all of them. Emptied his mind of them to start anew.

Tonight, Harkness jolted awake. Something felt…off. There was a familiar sharp static buzzing up his back. Travelling up his spine. Leaving charges in its wake. It interrupted every code in his body in its quest to reach him.

_**02:40. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};**__  
_**are you getting this**

Bullshit.

4 months 3 days 11 hours 12 minutes 29 seconds after re-activation, he had no idea why he was being summoned again.


	2. Chapter 1

_Thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate it. _

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 1**

There had been 12 summonses so far in the past 3 months 18 days 18 hours 13 minutes 10 seconds when there should have been none. Every few days, he'd feel the familiar static buzzing through him and the summons would slip past his defences and convey its message to him in simple lines:

_**22:42. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};**_**  
anybody there**

_**18:35. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};**_**  
are you getting this**

_**01:09. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};**_**  
where are you**

He couldn't predict them. There was one that popped up at midnight. One at noon. One at 03:56 and then another within the same minute asking the same question. Unpredictable. There was no discernible pattern. There was a lack of punctuation, lack of signature to trace. The main constant factor was its source: the Institute. Because nothing else could reach him like this. Had access to him. Could send him messages. Each one left him feeling unsettled. Made him anxious. They hadn't explicitly summoned him back the way they used to. But they asked him questions he couldn't answer. Not that he had the ability to reply. Summonses were one-way messages. The Institute sent them and the android obeyed them.

What the hell did they want? It had been more than a year since he left the Institute. Approximately 7 months since Zimmer left. Hadn't they forgotten all about him? It made him wonder if… these summonses could have been messages he didn't receive back then, a whole bunch of them still hanging around in space until he was in range to receive them. Or could this be one of the Institute's schemes? Another way of manipulating him into giving himself away? Or probably, the summonses were simply echoes, pieces of memory resurfacing.

He had no idea.

"You're checking up on the bow?" Lana asked him while brushing her light hair. She was biting down on two of her hairpins, the thin black lines sticking out between her teeth.

"Something like that." Harkness set the razor on the edge of the basin. At this time of day, 05:27, there weren't many Rivetians in the communal bathroom. The early ones, Gary, Angela, Diego and Father Clifford, had already come and gone. The others would come trickling in from 06:10 onwards.

"You don't have to do that, you know. Doc Pinkerton's been like that since before he left Rivet City…" Lana frowned, continuing to talk in a soft voice. "He always shooed me out of the lab when I was young. He hates kids."

"I'm sure he hates most everyone," Harkness reassured her as he buckled the strap over his chestplate. Tightened it until the armour fit snugly across his torso. She took the pins from between her teeth and pointed them at him.

"But he lets you into his lab."

"I doubt that's because he likes me." She angled her chin down, tipped her head and grinned at him. He recognised that look. As she parted her lips to tease, Doctor Preston walked into the bathroom. He was on his way to the Jefferson's memorial and wondered if Lana could accompany him. Since the purifier had started working, the doctor had been keeping a log book to note its progress. Lana frowned at Harkness and he smiled at her in response.

Outside, the sound of his footsteps was loud. To the left, Rivet City looked down on him, its bridge extended to the Wastes, covered in morning mist. There were faint lights from the tower, from the ship's body. He walked towards the broken bow of the ship; it had separated from the main body when the bombs dropped. Up ahead, its path was curved and uneven, glistening with river water. He reached the door, balled his right hand into a fist and knocked on it. Three times. He waited. No answer.

He knocked again. Harder. Louder.

No answer. What the hell?

Harkness touched the handle. It was cold. Damp. Rust crackled on its underside where the water had caught it. He held on to the handle, pushed it down just to test it – and the door screeched open.

Bullshit.

Harkness reached for his gun. Flicked its safety. Because this wasn't protocol. Pinkerton's sentry didn't usually leave the door unlocked like this. He would've activated the lock mechanism. Would've locked it tight. He'd have a problem with anything breaching the entrance, including him. Harkness braced himself. Clutched the gun. He barged into the bow and with a sharp turn he aimed at –

- the sentry. Looking relaxed and calm, there wasn't a hair out of place on his scalp. He had his feet on top of the table locked around the ankles. And he was reading a book, a comic: Grognak the Barbarian Issue # 25. Bryan Wliks' comic. The pistol he usually carried was holstered around his thigh. And his switchblade, his 'Toothpick', was by his feet. He hadn't even bothered to raise it.

"You're not a very reliable sentry," Harkness told him. None of Rivet City's guards had the nerve to slack off like this. In front of him, Butch flipped a page, not taking his eyes off the book. Damn Tunnel Snake.

"Heard you a mile away, tin man," he drawled. "You're shit at sneaking around."

"I wasn't sneaking around," he answered. Butch snorted.

"Yeah, I know."

Right. No hostiles here. Harkness lowered his gun. The last time he had been here was 27 days 13 hours 1 minute 10 seconds ago. He recognised the same assortment of objects on the shelves that lined each wall. Wooden boxes. Empty bottles. Tin cans. A frayed and broken dartboard. Several stuffed toys that had the stuffing shot out of them; Butch used them as target practice. He could see through the open door into the next room, the landing where the stairwell was. Down the stairs, the storage area was dim. So was the bathroom. There seemed to be no sign that Mirelurks had broken through. Behind the stairwell, the door to the rest of the bow was shut.

Harkness turned and closed the entrance door behind him. Flipped down the switchbox on the wall to activate the lock mechanism. There was a second's wait before the mechanism whirred, and then there was a click as the door locked behind him, sealing them off from the world outside. It was colder in here. Colder than in Rivet City.

When he turned back to the sentry, he found that Butch had finally put down his comic and was staring up at him. He smirked. Warm. Friendly. And Harkness was reminded that he hadn't seen him for approximately 15 days. Harkness holstered his weapon. Eyed the sentry. Butch seemed… fine. A little tired but fine. His leather jacket was wrapped around his torso. Pip-boy strapped to his left arm. The display on the gadget was informing him of the radio waves that it could detect but it wasn't tuned to any channel.

Harkness rested against the table because there was no hurrying Butch here. Because this was his 'territory', the 'Snake's turf', and Harkness' Rivet City Security Chief armour 'had nothin' to say to the Butchman'. He had been told that 8 times already.

"You here to check up on me or somethin'?" Butch drawled.

"Is that a problem?" The smirk on Butch's face widened as he leaned his head back, exposing his throat.

"You could've brought whiskey."

"You could've come up to the ship. Get some yourself."

"I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Y'know…stuff." Butch shrugged. "Pinky got visitors… deliveries. Machine parts. Android parts. The usual." Pinkerton's delivery convoys were a common enough occurrence that his guards had stopped reporting them to him. And with the purifier at the Jefferson memorial, there were other things to be concerned about. Harkness hummed in response. "So…what's the deal, tin man? Why're you here?" Butch squinted then. Let his eyes roam over his body as though seeing past his armour. "Did you break somethin'?"

"No, I just..." Was he broken? That was a possibility. Butch peered up into his face as he waited for an answer. "Monthly check-ups. You know that," Harkness said instead. After a two-second silence, Butch nodded.

"Alright, tin man. Let's go see Pinky."


	3. Chapter 2

_A story __written __for lilibombe as a gift. Not related to Trouble in any way. __  
_

_Hello :) Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. _

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 2**

He followed the snake on the back of Butch's Tunnel Snake jacket. The jacket had lost a bit of its shine but the snake still tried to stare him down. Harkness ignored it. Both of them circled the stairwell, heading for the door that led to the rest of the bow. Butch turned its handle counter clockwise and the door was released from its catch, creaking on its hinges. Harkness stepped through. Waited for Butch to close the door behind them before continuing the journey. He remembered giving Butch this same treatment when he'd just arrived at Rivet City; damn Tunnel Snake had been trying to pick a fight with Shrapnel in the Muddy Rudder. Not a good idea. Butch bumped into him.

"Quit stallin', tin man," he warned. It probably would be more intimidating if he kept the smirk off his face. How many times in his life did Butch get escorted like this? He wasn't doing too badly at it. On the right, the door to Butch's room was shut. They walked past it. Past the scrawled 'Tunnel Snakes rule' on the wall opposite the door.

At the end of the hallway, they entered the dining area. There was a faint smell of cooked meat hanging in the air; some sort of stew was on the stove. There was a kettle there too. Butch picked up one of the glasses sitting on a tray on the counter. He poured water from the kettle into the glass. It was warm judging by the steam rushing away from it. Carrying it through the open archway, he punched a switch on the wall, making the door on the side swing open for them. There was a _whoosh_ of air and the smell of chemicals hit his face.

Right. Pinkerton's lab.

The first step inside the lab made him tense. It was like stepping into the Institute again. There were metal pieces, electronics and wires on all flat surfaces. Piles of papers. Charts on the walls. Colourful chemicals in test tubes sitting on a rack. A humming, whirring sound from machines in the lab. Harkness spotted the Vault boy bobblehead on top of Pinkerton's personal desk and saw it examining him through its glasses. It had earned its place in the lab when Butch moved into the bow. Harkness had no idea why Pinkerton would hire Butch as a sentry, especially when it was Butch who had broken into the lab in the first place. Still, he supposed the doctor and the Vault kid got along well enough.

"Yo Pinky," Butch called out in greeting. "You got company." He walked to Pinkerton's desk and pushed a pile of papers away from the edge and onto the floor. He placed the glass of warm water on the cleared triangle of space. "Since when are you Mr. Popular?"

"Kid? Will you lower your volume? I need to concentrate," Pinkerton's muffled, annoyed voice came from somewhere in the back of the lab.

"All this beeping shit and you got a problem with me talkin'?" Butch went to Pinkerton's terminal and typed something on the keyboard.

"Your 'talking' isn't conducive to the work while -" The terminal greeted Butch with a string of happy beeps and Pinkerton's head rose from a bunch of machine parts he had been hidden behind. "Are you logging into my terminal? If you changed my password –"

"I didn't. Your password ain't that hard to crack, y'know."

"Listen, kid. Just because I let you in here, it doesn't mean you can mess around with my equipment." Pinkerton wagged a wrench in Butch's direction. "It's not a free pass to -"

"Yeah, yeah," Butch straightened up from the terminal. He smirked. "Don't raise your blood pressure."

"Doctor Pinkerton," Harkness interjected. The doctor turned to him then, blinking magnified eyes behind his goggles. They were large and grey as they assessed him.

"Oh, it's you," Pinkerton said after a moment. He pulled the goggles off his face and dropped the wrench he was holding onto the table. He took off his gloves as well, muttering to himself. "Has it been a month already?" As Pinkerton passed his desk, he put the gloves down and picked up the glass Butch had placed there. He gulped from it like he hadn't seen water in a long time. "Let's get you hooked up, A3-21." He gestured for Harkness to take a seat next to the terminal. When Pinkerton lifted the red tube that was connected to it, Harkness stilled, knowing what came next.

The doctor's fingers reached for the opening at the base of Harkness' neck. This touch was clinical, similar to that of the scientists at the Institute. And even though this was Pinkerton, he couldn't help but feel the flutter of unease that came with that familiar sensation. The cold metal of the phono plug trailed across his skin. And with a fast jab, the plug was lodged into him. Immediately, currents latched onto him. It accumulated at the base of his neck, trying to get into him, into his head. Harkness swallowed a curse. His fingers twitched on the armrests.

"I heard Li left the purifier. Is that true?" Pinkerton asked, oblivious to his discomfort. He watched as Pinkerton's fingers flew across the keyboard, typing commands too fast for him to catch. A dull current nudged his system. Harkness shifted in his seat. Blue lines of code ran down his vision behind his eyelids, visible upon connection. The pressure at the base of his neck increased. "What about all her monkeys in lab suits? Did they go with her?" Pinkerton scratched his chin. "That can't be good for the Brotherhood for Steel."

"Seriously, Pinky, just go to the purifier, already," Butch suggested from across him. He was leaning on the table, twirling his switchblade between his fingers, watching them. Pinkerton grumbled something, and Butch snorted in response.

"Well, then. I'll just start the scan and see if there are any anomalies in your system," he said. As soon as Pinkerton jammed onto the 'Enter key', Harkness shut his eyes.

In an instant, the pressure amplified. The currents thrust. Pummelled at his defences. Until it cut through. The electric cleaved its way into his chest, to his body, to the tips of his fingers. It scraped through his tubes' walls. Unravelled every code. Choked every wire in its hold. Drowned everything in order to take control. Behind his eyelids, the blue lines turned green. Drenched with the foreign charges. Only then, did the intensity drop. Lowered to a pulse. His system was pushed to the side as the scan had its way with him. He was no longer in control right now.

His grip loosened on the armrests, fingers still twitching. It had been 2 minutes 13 seconds so far. 3 minutes more of this bullshit to go. Harkness opened his eyes.

Pinkerton was no longer at the terminal. Butch was gone too. He heard them, far away, discussing about the broken bow. About the purifier. About drinks and cleanliness and plumbing. About some errand Pinkerton wanted Butch to help him with.

"This one isn't like 101," Pinkerton was saying, turning over a gas mask in his hand, examining it.

"There's nowhere like 101. It makes no fuckin' difference, Pinky."

"It's more advanced in terms of technology. If only I had my hands on some of its records…" Pinkerton's voice trailed off and Butch pursed his lips. The line of his back was tense and he had slipped one of his hands into his pocket.

"Why don't you ask your fanclub?" Butch asked, a hint of a threat in his voice. Pinkerton waved the idea off.

"Clearly, you've had experiences with vaults," Pinkerton said. Butch tensed a little more. "And... you occasionally show intelligence."

"No shit, old man. I got through your traps, didn't I?"

"So did the android."

A sudden loud beeping filled Harkness' ears. The scan had been completed. The currents started to leave, unclenching their hold on him. Harkness grasped all his senses as the electric let go, feeling like he was expanding into his own body. Every wire felt shredded. Scrubbed raw. Sore. Some parts of his system continued sparking from where the scan had molested him.

Pinkerton returned to the terminal. He typed something into it. Harkness could feel the moment the connection snapped and jerked against the echoing snap in his chest. He leaned forwards, reached up to his own neck and twisted the plug out, shivering as the last traces of green left him. Slowly, he took a breath and lifted his face.

"Alright, tin man?" Butch asked. There was something soft in his gaze that looked like concern, but the tension in his body hadn't left. Harkness nodded.

"Looks like you're in perfect working order. 100% in operation," Pinkerton announced. He looked pleased as he tapped some keys on the terminal.

"Is there any..." Harkness started. Pinkerton turned to him, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Harkness didn't voice it. "Nothing. Thanks, Doctor." Pinkerton stood up and moved away, letting him look at the results of the scan. In the Institute, Harkness wasn't given the privilege to read his own reports, just a set of instructions and then he'd be sent back to base to be 'fixed'. Now, Harkness looked at terminal, skimming sections of the report labelled 'Performance', 'Security', and 'Memory'. Pinkerton was right. He was in perfect working order. 100% in operation. There were no anomalies detected. He hadn't broken anything, consistent with the findings in the 'Hardware' section of the report. He scrolled down to last page of the report. Down to where it was titled 'Network'.

**Summary of the activity on system A3-21.  
****Signal strength: Excellent ****  
****Address: **********  
Address filtering check: PASS  
Communication mode check: PASS  
Active summonses: 0**

Right.

No active summonses.

Bullshit.

The scan couldn't detect the summonses. What the hell? It was impossible. It didn't make sense when he could see them so clearly in his head right now. All 12 of them laid out in chronological order. Repeating their messages. Waiting for his response.

What the hell was the Institute up to? Weren't these even summonses at all? If they weren't, what the hell were they? Staring at the report, he had no idea what to do. Was he... going rogue?

"Why a snake, DeLoria?" Pinkerton's voice interrupted his thoughts. Harkness turned to see him addressing Butch with a curious expression. Butch looked over his shoulder at the snake on his back and frowned.

"What? You got a problem with it?"

"Isn't it a little ironic that it's your gang mascot? Snakes are _solitary _creatures." Butch stared at Pinkerton in disbelief. The doctor shrugged before he stood up from his chair, pointing at the metal piles on the table. "I'm done with those. Put them in storage, will you? I also need some scrap metal."

"You're kiddin'. You need _more_ metal?"

"It's a different kind of metal," he explained, downing the glass of water. He handed the empty glass to Butch. "And kid, that wasn't your best boiled water," Pinkerton remarked with a smile as he climbed to the upper deck of the lab. Butch made a rude noise after him. Harkness stood up from the terminal. Stepped towards Butch who raised his gaze to his.

"Want to get out of here?" he asked.

"Yeah. Fuck. I need a drink." So did he.


	4. Chapter 3

_Hello :) Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for your reviews. I truly appreciate it._

Edited. Thanks, Murder Junkie.

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 3**

They left the lab, its sounds and its machines. Butch smacked the switch on the wall and the door to the lab swung shut, locking in place. Harkness walked with him to the kitchen where he deposited Pinkerton's empty glass in the sink. He opened the refrigerator door to pull out a bottle of Nuka Cola and uncapped it with haste, storing the cap into his pocket. Then he wrapped his lips around the bottle, tipped his head back and drank, his throat making swallowing motions under the popped up collar of his jacket. After several gulps, he offered Harkness the cola. Harkness took it from him, his fingers creating trails in the condensation that had spread out on the glass.

"Know anywhere there's scrap metal?" Butch asked, flicking the water off his hand. He ran wet fingers through his hair, making the dark locks glisten. Harkness took a sip of cola; it didn't wash the taste of foreign electric away from the back of his throat.

"I'm an android. Not a metal detector." From the corner of his eyes, he caught the way Butch's lips tipped up. Amused. "Seagrave Holmes has scrap metal." Butch snorted.

"Yeah, sure. Last time I asked to trade, he threw a fuckin' fit." Harkness returned the bottle to Butch who took another swig, still eyeing him like he was waiting for an answer. Like Harkness _was_ a metal detector despite saying he wasn't.

"Scavenge them," he suggested. Because that was how Rivetians found scrap metal. That was how anyone found anything in the Wastes. They started walking the way they came. Up ahead, the hallway stretched and Harkness could see the door that would lead him out to the entrance. He felt his system trying to speed up its recovery as he neared the door. At the back of his head, the summonses loomed. And he avoided them. Because he had no idea what they were. And he had no idea what to do with them. Butch stopped and Harkness almost bumped into him. Almost. His system made sure he didn't, alarming him with a surge of energy. They were standing in front of Butch's room. He unlocked the door, faced Harkness with a smirk and pushed the bottle to his grip - a silent invitation for him to stay. Harkness took one look down the corridor. Then, followed him inside.

The last time he had been in here, he was helping Butch carry some things from the lower deck. Some bar stools. A box of books. A mattress. A table lamp. A dismantled shelf which had been in pieces, stashed in the back of Vera's closet. The room had a fairly simple layout. He didn't know what it was used for when the ship had been in operation. There were two large metal tables that rose from the floor on either side of the room. Sturdy. Approximately 4 feet high.

The table on the right was flanked by three bar stools. One stool had magazines on it. The other two were unoccupied. On the table, there were five books. Three of them were stacked into a tower. The other two lay open on their spines. He wasn't sure if Butch was in the process of reading or using the pages for his drawings. There was a sewing kit, needle already threaded and pinned onto a dark blue piece of cloth. It sat next to the bag in which Butch kept his barbering tools. There was also a whet stone, which was used as a paperweight.

Butch's mattress lay on top of the other table. His blanket was a crumpled whitish cloth over it. It had a dark blue patch on its corner, probably covering a tear. There was a fluffed up pillow too; it looked softer than his own pillow did.

Harkness stepped further into the room, but didn't close the door behind him. He ran his fingers over a faded poster on the wall next to the door. It was a pre-war advertisement for a motorcycle. A splash of red on the silver wall. Smooth, dry and brittle under the pad of his fingers. Three photographs were pasted on the wall next to it. One was of a group of people squeezed within the frame. Butch was in the middle, grinning as he held someone in a headlock. He recognised the headlocked individual as the other Vault kid who had been looking for his father and ended up starting the purifier. That kid hadn't come around for some time. How was he doing? Another photograph showed four unhappy looking men. They had matching jackets, matching hairstyles and matching expressions as they leaned against the wall, spelling troublemakers with their stances. The last photo was of a woman. She seemed to be pouring herself a drink when the camera captured the shot. Her mouth was open in surprise. Those eyes - they resembled Butch's.

A tall shelf and two desks were pushed against the far wall. Harkness could see some boxes, folded clothes and more books. On the desks, there was a variety of mostly unlabeled bottles. Probably hair products or lotions or whatever Butch used to groom with. Butch had also hung a rectangular mirror on the wall. He was currently standing in front of it but not looking at his reflection. He was looking downwards at his pip-boy, fiddling with it. Butch turned around to place a black bag on the table. When he looked up, he caught Harkness' gaze.

"Damn, tin man. You gonna turn it off a while or what?" he demanded. "Ain't nothin' but me here, y'know. I swear you're like a security cam, sometimes." Butch tossed a shirt into the bag. Some ammo for his pistol. A couple of Stimpaks.

"Where are you headed?" Harkness asked. Butch looked down at his pip-boy again. Shrugged. Plunged his hands into the open bag.

"So, what's the deal?" he said instead of answering. "I mean, you don't like bein' hooked up to the terminal but you do it anyway. Is that an android thing?"

"Something like that." Humans didn't get plugged up like that during check ups. Humans didn't receive summonses in their heads. "Every android in the Institute goes through it."

"Yeah? Did it always hurt?" Always so straight to the point, the Tunnel Snake was.

"You get used to it."

"Do you?" Harkness didn't reply, opting instead to swallow more cola. Leaning against the doorframe, he observed the graffiti on the wall, tracing Butch's handwriting with his eyes. He heard a _whump_ behind him, like something being dropped onto the table. He turned to see that Butch had dropped the bag and was walking around the table towards him. He stopped when he was close, less than a metre away. Then he reached over and closed his hand around Harkness'.

"You're still shaking, tin man," Butch said, voice low, his fingers long, rough and warm around his. Harkness didn't take back his statement. Didn't take back his hand. Didn't look away from him as the water droplets slid over their hands and onto the floor. He let Butch pry the bottle from his grip. He wasn't going to deny because the evidence was there. His fingers were indeed shaking with the aftermath of the scan, still twitching like the rest of his wires. He couldn't help it. Androids didn't express the pain. Those that did were marked as 'malfunctioning'. Harkness knew because he had been the one to track them down and bring them back to the Institute.

"Anacostia," Butch interrupted his thoughts. "Figured I'd head there. For the scrap metal." Harkness watched the way Butch swirled the bottle, its contents sloshing inside.

"You know that's raider territory." Wastelanders avoided taking that route to reach Rivet City.

"I came through there on my way here the first time."

"Right." He didnt ask if Butch wanted help; he had stopped asking after the fifth time Butch had to leave Rivet City on some errand. Harkness noted his profile, his face in shadow as he drank more cola. "Come up to the city after you're done."

"Why? You on duty?" Butch rested the bottle's rim on his lower lip, pausing between swallows. "I don't know how long I'm gonna be out there." There was something in his voice that... was quiet. Like he was unsure. But Butch always had this nervousness about stepping out into the Wastes. Most people did, no matter if they lived their whole lives out here and not in a Vault. No matter if they weren't human at all.

"I'm always on duty," Harkness replied. A small smirk spread on Butch's face and the tension across his shoulders lessened to some degree. They parted at the stairs that led to Rivet City. Butch headed out to the Wastes. Harkness headed back to the ship to fall into routine all over again.

He patrolled the halls. Compared notes with Brock in the Muddy Rudder about the city's visitors. Discussed the duty roster with Lana. Socialised with Flak and Shrapnel. Helped Mister Lopez locate Ted Strayer who was hanging around Paulie Cantelli a little too much; better keep an eye on him. Mostly, he stayed in the marketplace, making sure there weren't any problems here. He exited Rivet City at 18:59 and waited on the bridge, facing the water and the Wastes. By this time, his system was back to the way it was and his wires had stopped sparking or twitching. Harkness stared at the summonses in his head.

At 00:21, he spotted a figure in the distance. It blended in with the darkness but he could recognise the shine of black leather, swinging along to a familiar slow gait 18 hours 20 minutes 12 seconds after Butch had left. As Butch made his way up to the city, Harkness let his rifle go and slid it behind him; nothing was following the Tunnel Snake. Butch crossed the bridge. Settled next to him after dumping his bag behind them. It seemed like he had found what he was looking for. There was the distinct sound of metal clanging against each other as the bag hit the floor. Beside him, Butch smelled like watered down beer and dust. Like sweat. Like blood.

Harkness offered him the lit cigarette and he took it, inhaling a long breath. His fingers were stained with grime and dirt. Knuckles purple from injury. Butch coughed the smoke out and returned the cigarette to him. There was a ring of smeared red on the tip. Harkness ignored it. Ignored the slight metallic taste of blood when he replaced the cigarette between his lips; it wasn't that much different from the synthetic concoction running inside him.

"Need a doctor?" he asked, knowing that Butch would just reject the help anyway.

"Nah. It's just a scratch," he drawled. "One of the bastards got a lucky hit." He pulled the jacket closer around himself. "The rest didn't see me." The relief in his voice was plain to hear.

They shared the silence. Shared the cigarette till it was a stub and Harkness flung it down, its red glow fading and disappearing into the water. "Shit. That's a long drop," Butch hissed. "Can't believe you wanted to throw me off the ship."

"I didn't."

"That's cause I said that code to you." Harkness stilled in the middle of taking out a new cigarette. He turned to Butch who was peering over the railing at the water. Face still flushed from exercise. Lip swollen. Brow bone bruised. Harkness remembered holding onto fistfuls of Tunnel Snake jacket and slamming him to the railing of the bridge. He remembered Butch yelling at him. Remembered Butch showing him the proof he got from Pinkerton. Butch grabbing the back of his head as he lost his balance on the edge of the bridge. Telling Harkness that Zimmer had come to get him. Telling Harkness to trust him. _Trust_ him. His voice, frantic when he relayed the code to activate him. To reveal the android he was.

"It was a good thing... what you did." Harkness peered down as well. "You were close to lying face down in the water."

"You couldn't throw me off the ship if you tried, tin man." Butch chuckled. And Harkness wondered if Butch understood what activating the code meant to him.

"What did you tell Zimmer back then?" Butch looked at him, gaze roaming over his face.

"I didn't say nothin'. Just gave him this… android component thing." He marked a rectangular shape in the air with his fingers, indicating the mentioned component. "He said it's yours and that you must've got destroyed." Huh. So, Zimmer had thought he was destroyed. His system picked up this new information. Why would Zimmer send messages to a destroyed android? It didn't make sense. Harkness took a cigarette out of the packet in his hands. When he shoved the box into his pocket, he noticed that Butch was sucking on his lower lip, the way he did when he had something to say but didn't want to say it.

"Is there a problem?" Harkness asked. Butch shook his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, glanced away twice before he met Harkness' gaze. Then he parted his lips to speak.

"Are you thinkin' of going back?" What the – Bullshit.

"No."

"You sure?" Butch asked, as though he didn't believe it. He frowned, inching closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. "I mean, don't you miss it or somethin'?" Hell, no. He didn't want to return to the Commonwealth. He didn't want to step a foot in that direction. Didn't want to go back to rigid structures, protocol and lack of freewill. He didn't want to think about it. No.

"There is no emotional attachment to that place." Harkness put the cigarette between his lips and lit up, taking a deep inhale. He exhaled. Inhaled again. Exhaled again. His breaths collided with the plumes of smoke from his previous exhale, disturbing their floating momentum.

"You're really an android, ain't you?" Butch said. No, shit. Wasn't he the one to convince Harkness about that? He turned to reply but didn't when he saw that Butch was still staring at him. He seemed to be deep in thought. Like he was considering something. There was a flicker of emotion on his face. Then, he cleared his throat before pushing off the railing. "Well, I gotta go back. Don't want Pinky setting up traps again." He picked up his bag. Harkness pushed off the railing too and stepped towards him. He reached into his pocket to pull the bottle out by its neck.

"Here." He handed it to Butch. "The Muddy Rudder's closed by now," he explained. Butch looked up from the bottle of whiskey in his hand to Harkness, a smirk forming on his lips.

"So, you do have a soft spot under all that metal." He chuckled. Clutching the whiskey to his chest, he made his way back down the bridge. Back to the broken bow. Butch gave him a short wave with the bottle before he disappeared behind the door. They probably wouldn't see each other again for another 15 days.

Harkness left the bridge. Went back to the bridge tower and his naval cot. From one of the other cots, a guard wished him a good night. Lana's cot was empty; she was on duty in the marketplace. He stripped to his shirt and a pair of loose pants before sinking into the mattress.

He had been asleep for 2 hours 12 minutes 34 seconds when he jolted awake. His system was buzzing. At first, he thought that it was had started twitching again with the aftermath of the scan. But there was static running up his back. Pulsing. Pushing. It travelled up his wires -

_**03:32. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};**_**  
come back**

**_03:32. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};  
_im in rivet city**

Bullshit.


	5. Chapter 4

_I'm so sorry for the late chapter everyone. _

_I hope you enjoy it. Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate it. _

* * *

**Echo  
****Chapter 4**

He took a second to calm himself. Reminded himself that he still was in control of his assets, that he hadn't been found yet. Whoever it was that was waiting for him - might be Zimmer, might be an android hunter - they weren't here hovering over him, not yet. But they were already on his ship. This was no longer a safe place for him, and by extension, Rivetians. He had to leave.

Harkness swung his legs off his naval cot, gaze darting around the room. The lights on the ceiling were dimmed to 50% intensity as usual because Rivet City's off-duty guards were resting. The clock on the wall indicated that it was 03:45. His system told him it was actually 03:47. It didn't matter. None of the clocks on the ship were synchronised anyway. The only sounds in the room were the clock ticking, light snoring and the very faint beeping of Private Jones recharging in the corner. Nothing out of place. Everything was the same as it had been when he entered the room.

Harkness reached for his armour. The sleeping guard on the other cot stirred and Harkness stilled, his hand outstretched, as he watched the guard curl his fingers around the gun under his pillow in sleep. 3 minutes 5 seconds he waited - no more moves. Harkness grabbed his rifle instead. Slung it across his back over his shirt. He noted the nearest exit to his left through the corridor; it led to the flight deck. It wasn't where he wanted to go. There were 9 doors that led out of the bridge tower, 10 if he counted the armory. 8 of the doors opened to the flight deck. Only one led to the Rivet City stairwell. That door was 3 flights down. Harkness started moving.

He planned a route to the Rivet City entrance. One with the least resistance. One where he'd meet the least number of people. Because he had no idea who was on his side anymore.

One floor down took him through the next sleeping area. Two out of the five beds were occupied. A guard had her head hidden behind a book, its cover vandalised with green streaks. She didn't notice him and he didn't call out to her. No point making his whereabouts known. Next flight down was the tower pantry. There was a plate of Gary's Mirelurk cakes on the table, more crumbs than whole pieces. Its faint sweet scent had diffused into the air. No one here. Nothing out of place. He turned to the stairwell door and its many accompanying signs, all marked with an arrow pointing to the same door. _The Weatherly Hotel. Capitol Preservation Society. The Muddy Rudder. Science Lab. Marketplace. _He wasn't going through the marketplace because Lana was there. Not that he thought she was the android hunter but he didn't like trying to evade her questions. She could be... persistent.

His system ran him through the ship's routines. Most Rivetians would be asleep by now but he paused at the door to the stairwell, pricking up his ears to listen for anyone's presence. There were footsteps echoing through the door. Distinct whistling he recognised as belonging to one of his guards. He waited till there was a bang, the sound of a door closing, before he entered the stairwell. He climbed down the stairs, one hand pressed on the barrel of his rifle, the other on the railing. His footsteps thudded on each step. He couldn't quiet them anymore than he could. Metal legs were heavy – so were metal bodies. At the next landing, he opened the door to the entrance and the guard-on-duty straightened up in alert. Harkness had stopped short of pulling the rifle on the guard, even though he knew there was going to be someone on duty. There was always someone on duty. The guard, _Fenix_, tipped the visor of his helmet in greeting after he resumed his position. Wished him goodnight with a toothy smile behind a healthy beard. Harkness asked if anyone had crossed the bridge in the past 2 hours. He watched the way Fenix eyed him, gaze lingering on his clothes for a mere second as he answered "Naw, Boss. It's a quiet night."

Right. That was why he was going out for a walk. His guard nodded in response and his smile widened, turned knowing.

Harkness continued walking. When five steps passed and he hadn't been tackled to the ground, he released his rifle. Fenix might not be the one that was looking for him. But someone on the ship was the Institute's hunter. And he wasn't sticking around to find out who it was right now. He measured the distance and speed between his strides as he crossed the bridge, retracing the same steps he took this morning. Being out in the open made him an easy target. It took a substantial amount of willpower not to run.

It felt like an hour later when he reached the broken bow. He knocked on the metal door with his fist. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no one following him. No one paying attention. He grasped the handle. Tried to open the hatch. It didn't budge. He banged on the door again. Harder. Glanced behind him again. Up the path. Up at Rivet City to the left. How long was this going to take? He wondered if he could pull the door from its hinges.

"Who's there? What the fuck do you want?" Butch's voice came through, increasing in volume as he neared the door. "You try anythin' I'll blow your fuckin' brains out."

"Open up," Harkness ordered.

"...Tin man?" He heard hurried footsteps. Some rattling. Whirring. The click as the lock released the door. It swung open to black leather and a wide grin. "What? You miss me already?" Harkness shoved past the Tunnel Snake. Jammed the door shut and forced the lock again. The second's wait felt too long before the lock mechanism whirred. Clicked. Locked. Another door between the Institute and him. It didn't do anything to calm the panic inside. Why the hell was he even here? He turned to Butch. "I need to see the doctor."

"Again? He's not in." What? Pinkerton left the bow? "He's at the purifier."

"What's he doing there?" The doctor didn't have authorisation, did he? Butch shrugged, indifferent.

"Bein' nosy. He calls it observing." Bullshit. Harkness turned to the now locked door. Fuck. What was he going to do now? He didn't want to step outside again. No way. "Hey." He turned back to where Butch was staring at him, frown pulling his brows down. The bruise was still there. The blood gone. "What's... up?"

Harkness paused for a moment before he said "There is a problem."

3 minutes 12 seconds later, they entered the lab.

"All this time you've been gettin' these... notes," Butch said as he flicked the switch on the wall. Some of the lights flickered to life. The rest left parts of the lab in darkness. "And you didn't say nothin'?" Butch dropped his pistol on the table next to the terminal. It spun on its side, screeching on the table top. Butch fixed his gaze on Harkness, something dark in his eyes as he leaned against Pinkerton's desk.

"They're summonses," he corrected. "Also, I didn't think someone would come back for me again." Butch muttered something under his breath about idiot androids. "The scans didn't detect summonses. If I told Pinkerton, he'll immediately assume I'm going rogue." Because that was what scientists do if things didn't add up in a machine's system. He was familiar with their type. He'd rather not be 'fixed' when there wasn't anything broken in him.

"Why do you wanna see Pinky then?" Harkness looked at Butch, wondering if he was genuinely curious or if he was trying to be a smartass. Butch ran a hand through his hair, messy and tousled like he had just gotten out of bed; he probably had.

"I'm out of options," he confessed. In front of him, Butch quirked up a smile.

"And I thought you were his number 1 fan." The smile faded. "So, what now?" he asked, leaning in. Harkness had no answer for him.

"I don't know." The open doorway unsettled him. He felt the need to shut it. Bolt it. Before he could, Butch slid off the table, his feet landing softly on the floor. He bumped past Harkness and booted up Pinkerton's terminal. It lit up, Pinkerton's warning appearing on-screen. _'You better have permission to be using this computer.' _Ignoring it, Butch punched several keys and the machine gave him the string of beeps that signalled he had gotten past its security. He sat down, squaring his shoulders like he was prepping for a fight. "What are you doing?" Harkness asked.

"I'm gonna read your report logs. If I ever find them, that is. Pinky keeps his terminal like he keeps his lab. Can't find shit in here." The light of the terminal washed over him, over the bare skin of his torso under his jacket. He started typing on the keyboard, complaining about how Pinky wrote stupid names for his files as he was pulling up reports on the screen. The look on Butch's face said that he didn't want to be disturbed. Kind of like when he was polishing his boots that one time. Like when he was cutting someone's hair.

Seeing this was... something settled in him and he felt calmer. Safer. He didn't know why.

He walked to the open lab door, giving into the urge to do a sweep of the area. Something glimmered outside. Peering into the dimness, he could make out the kitchen area. The pot that had been on the stove was hanging from a hook on the wall. Clean. Shiny. Its bottom was reflecting stray light from the lab. He turned into the long hallway. Also empty. The two doors up ahead were locked; he knew because he had locked them. He returned to the lab. Shut the door. Activated the lock mechanism and for good measure, bolted it. Rust flakes fell to the floor; obviously the bolts hadn't been touched in a while. He followed the shapes where the light touched with his eyes, the terminal washing the lab aglow. It looked... it was so much like the Institute at night that he really didn't feel like staying here but there was nowhere else to go.

"What do the notes say?" Butch asked without taking his eyes off the terminal, without lifting his fingers from the keyboard as he typed something. He wanted to tell Butch that this was pointless. That he remembered every report the terminal created for him. Every line. Every digit. Every bit of binary. He had gone through the whole lot of them and he still had no idea what to do. But Butch seemed determined. Seemed to know what he was doing. Was it the Vault that taught him? Or was it Pinkerton? Or was he just bullshitting?

"Summonses," he corrected again. "They told me to come back. Told me that they're already here waiting for me." He couldn't help the tension that spiked in him as his system replayed the messages on loop.

"So they like you." Butch typed a command in the terminal and the latest report appeared on the screen. "How do they know you're here?"

"They must've tracked me somehow..." Though, Harkness wasn't sure how that was possible. He had taken out his tracker, hadn't he? He had crushed it under his heel and buried it the moment he left the Commonwealth. It had fucked his system up as it tried to access a piece of hardware that wasn't there. Pinkerton had patched the codes up for him, since then.

"Maybe it's the... network or somethin'." Butch shrugged.

"You think I'm still in the Commonwealth's network?" He doubted that. The Institute would have cut him off the moment they thought he was destroyed. Because that was protocol; it was what happened to irretrievable, irreparable, damaged androids.

"Ain't you? I mean, that's how you get those notes, right?" Butch glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. "If you ain't on it, then they can't find you."

"How do you know that?" Butch hesitated for a moment, sucking on his lower lip. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, soft.

"Vaults have networks too, y'know." Harkness' eyes fell onto his pip-boy.

Right.

That was...

Could it be...? Was he still connected to the Commonwealth somehow?

Harkness approached the terminal. Holding onto the back of the chair Butch was sitting on, he skimmed the report on the screen. He directed Butch to go to the next page. The next page. The one after that till he was at the section marked 'Network'. He had seen this before. He had its record imprinted in his system. But now, as he considered the possibility, he looked at the information with fresher eyes.

Because... That was it, wasn't it? That was why he could receive the summonses. That was why they could trace him here in Rivet City. He had been blinded by his faith in the Institute's protocol that he had marked out this possibility. Maybe... maybe the Institute hadn't cut him off after all.

"I need to cut my connection." It sounded so simple leaving his lips. Yet, his system seized up. Warned him against the option. He knew why, of course. He knew the consequences of altering anything in his system. Its repercussions. Its problems. But after so long of receiving these summonses and with no idea of how to stop them – and now, with the impending discovery from the android hunters - it was the only way he could see out of this.

"How do we do that?" Harkness stared down at Butch who tipped his chin up, catching the light of the terminal on the underside of his jaw. He shifted, trapping Harkness' fingers in between his back and the chair.

"What do you mean?" Was Butch implying that... "You want to do it?" He looked at Butch's hands. Then at the screen. He felt more than saw Butch bristling, brushing leather on the tips of his fingers.

"What? You sayin' I don't got experience?" Butch pouted. "Sure, I ain't top of the class or whatever but I know how to figure shit out, okay. Besides," Butch made a show of scanning the lab. "You see anyone else here?"

"It's not that I... It's just -"

There was a loud bang. Harkness spun around to face the lab door. It was shut. Still locked like he left it. Still bolted.

Because no one had attempted to break in.

Because that sound... it was the sound of the ship settling. He'd heard it often enough in Rivet City.

"It's nothin'," Butch told him, coming next to him.

"I know."

"The place makes noises sometimes."

"I _know_." He lived in a fucking ship. He knew what the ship settling sounded like. A sudden movement startled him but Butch was just reaching for his hand, grasping it – as he pried the pistol from his grip. Bullshit. He hadn't realised that he had swiped it from the table. He must be more wound up that he had thought. Eyeing him from under his lashes, Butch replaced the pistol onto the table and gave him back his hand. The confrontational mood he was in seemed to have passed. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

"Fine," Harkness sighed. "Hook me up." He didn't miss the way the corner of Butch's lips tipped up. "But if you mess me up..." Harkness threatened. "You better not mess me up."

"Fuck. What do you take me for? I'm not gonna - I'm just gonna take a look." He nudged Harkness to the chair. "Anyway, you should know that I'm good at cuttin' things."

Harkness started to protest but the rest of his words died when he saw the red tube already in Butch's hand. His system stuttered. Issued an alert to all his components as it hit him that he was doing this for the second time within 24 hours. He wasn't even subjected to this in the Commonwealth. Harkness looked away from the tube, swallowing heavily, as Butch advanced on him. He felt his fingers, warm and rough brush against the opening at the base of his neck. For a moment, it felt like he was just going through another of Butch's barber sessions. But the cold metal trailing his skin didn't belong to a pair of scissors. He tensed, anticipating the intrusion. When Butch pushed the plug into him, the currents from the terminal immediately latched onto him, sparking from the seams. It felt worse, this time. Like the electric was scraping his flesh raw from inside every wire. A tremor coursed through him and he exhaled a controlled thin stream of air.

"Tin man?" Butch murmured; it was an apologetic sound in his ear, as his knuckles kneaded the back of his neck. Forcing himself to relax, Harkness let go of the armrests he had been squeezing. He nudged Butch away, signalling that he was fine even though he really wasn't. How could he be fine? "So," Butch started, the chair creaking when he sat down again. He tugged the jacket around himself, zipping it up a fraction. "What am I lookin' for?"

"An address," Harkness told him, keeping the fear and pain out of his voice. "It's a string of digits and letters. A code. Encrypted."

"What do I do when I find it?"

"Erase it," he bit out. He probably should have done that from the start. Erase every single trace of the Institute from his system. Harkness focused on his own boots, noting that they were unlaced. He couldn't recall ever walking around with unlaced boots. When 4 minutes 7 seconds passed with no change in his system, he lifted his head. Butch was frowning at the screen and had obviously been that way for some time. He stayed that way for another 27 seconds. Bullshit.

"Damn it, snake. If you don't know - "

"Fuck off. I'm tryin' to do this."

"Don't play around."

"I ain't. Now, relax - "

"This isn't -"

The sudden barrage of currents blocked his voice. Currents pierced through the barrier. He jerked at the invasion, trying desperately to hang onto something. Trying to focus his thoughts on nothing as the currents ravaged through his system once again. He had kept his eyes open, and he could see now, the green drenching everything in his vision. Then sharp electric forced the breath out of him. Like a stab in his head that he felt all the way in his chest. He cursed.

"Hey, tin man, can you hear me?" Butch called. Why the hell was he asking this question? His hearing wasn't affected in any way. Whatever Butch saw in his face made him pull the jacket tighter around him. He zipped it up a little more. "Uh... I'm in." Of course. He felt it. Before he could comment, the air was pushed out of him and he choked on a breath. He coughed, feeling a sharp sting race down his back. It sent prickles through him even as he continued coughing. He felt a new current, a bright blue light prod his system. His system didn't resist. It let the new blue mingle. And that – that wasn't normal.

"Found anything yet?" he asked, hearing the slight slur in his words. Butch grumbled something he didn't catch. Something rushed through his chest, a sudden flash of heat and then it was gone, leaving something swirling in him. He hung his head. Stared at the thin cotton of his shirt. He couldn't see what was happening but he could feel something... different. He didn't know what to make of it. He hadn't seen it before. Hadn't experienced it. Butch continued typing. The flash of heat came back again. This time it stayed, heat blooming in his chest. A radial burst of warmth that felt fluid. Like ripples, faint at first but... he could feel it tick at intervals inside him. It had managed to quiet his system. His system didn't even try to fight it. It just sat, docile. Giving complete control to this bright blue that looked like his own but wasn't, as it now merged with the green. It slithered its way through his wires, leaving a trail of charges. A concentrated static that didn't seem to abate. He rolled his shoulders because they felt tight. There was a tension across them he hadn't noticed. What the hell was happening? His pulse was accelerating. He saw the tips of his fingers twitch in time to it over his knees. Something definitely wasn't right.

"Butch," he called, his speech sounding more slurred now. "Butch," he called again.

"Look. I'm doin' my best here. You got like a million string of numbers or letters, okay. Be patient."

Inside him, the thing, the fluid bright blue, whatever it was, had become viscous. Thick. It moved, clinging onto him. It travelled the same routes it had made through him but it was more apparent now. It glided down his stomach. His inner thighs. His calves. It fanned out all at once to touch his toes from inside. Throbbed like something alive. It was starting to become unbearable. Like it was trying to fill him up. It was an immeasurable pressure he couldn't control. He couldn't help the moan that passed his lips.

"You know the meaning of 'be patient', tin man? Seriously."

Another ripple coursed through him. It... burned as it made its way up and down at the same time, as though it was determined to measure every centimetre of him. It seized his breath in a lazy chokehold, clutching the inside of his throat. Harkness lifted his chin to escape its touch and it took that opportunity to slide further in, taking more of his air. His breaths came out like shallow huffs. For some time, he stared up at the ceiling, feeling the burn escalate. He could barely see any green now. Just this pulsing bright blue. Shimmering inside him. It was wrapped around his system. Taking over. And his system wasn't fighting it. It -

Something tore through him. He jerked, his legs shaking all the way to his toes. What the hell was this? His teeth were chattering even though he was keeping them clenched shut. He was bowled over by a wave of some - some feeling he couldn't - urgent and -

It pulsed through him again. He almost jumped out of the chair. Fuck -

"Unhook me," he said, his voice coming out like a gasp.

"I told you -"

"Unhook me now," Harkness repeated and Butch looked up, scowling, his mouth formed into a word. He didn't say it. Instead he cursed, eyes widening. Butch banged some keys on the terminal and in a moment, the connection snapped. Then Harkness was yanking the plug out. Control flooded through him. The currents in his neck fizzled down to a low buzz but the bright blue didn't dissipate like the green had done. It felt solid in his wires. Heavy. It was still pulsing in time to this fucking throbbing in his skin. In his chest. His head. He got out of the chair. He swayed on his feet. "You okay?"

"What...did you do?" he demanded but he could hear the waver in his voice. The gravelly undertone the blue had caused from closing his throat. He felt an intense need to move, to stay, to get the hell away from everything. He leaned on the nearest table, bumping into something which dropped to the floor with a loud crash. The charges skittered up the stretch in his back. "What the hell did you do?"

"Nothin'. I was looking for the thing, y'know. Like you said -" A strong pulse made his legs shake, and he groaned. He buried his head in his hands. It didn't help. "I didn't think it'll hurt you worse." Butch gripped his shoulder. And he felt a sharp burst of static from that touch. It stunned him. He stilled. "Come on, we gotta get you out of here."

"It's not..." he started, feeling the slow physical warmth of Butch's presence settle in the curve of his shoulder. "It doesn't hurt."


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone. Hope you're doing great. Thanks for reading :) I really appreciate it.**

* * *

**Echo  
****Chapter 5**

"What..." Butch's voice trailed off and his fingers dug deeper into Harkness' shoulder. Harkness took that second to inhale, trying to control this... thing inside him. The pulse inside him fluttered. It wouldn't listen. It made his system agree with it, flashing its bright blue behind his eyelids. Outside his body, Butch made about to pull him back but he broke out of the hold.

Everything in him protested as he willed himself to walk a straight line. He didn't know where to go but he couldn't stay here. Activating the lock mechanism of the lab door, he leaned heavily on it, feeling this fluid heat rush up his head. Fast. Cutting. Pinkerton's terminal was now metres away from him but the charges continued to ricochet off the inner walls of his wires, sliding up and down his back. There was constant static flowing through him. Over and over. The door unlocked, and he yanked the handle only to realise that he had bolted two more times. Damn it. He unlatched the bolts with clammy hands, breaking one of them in the process, rust flakes stuck on his palm. He stepped outside into the less stifling air of the bow. Buzzes skittered across his cheeks, away from the coolness.

Cold. He needed cold.

He trudged into the dark kitchen towards the fridge. Opened it. Grabbed the first bottle he could reach inside. He took no time to press it to his head. His knees buckled at the cold contact. He landed against the counter, trembling with the contrast of temperature on his skin. His body throbbed, charges swirling around the bottle's icy touch, embracing and fighting it at the same time. It was enough to shut his system up for a second. He took a deep breath. He needed to think. Needed to focus. Needed to -

"Tin man."

"Quiet," he demanded, hearing the slur in his voice.

"Look, I didn't mean it. You don't gotta be a jerk about it." Harkness glowered at Butch who had followed him out of the lab. The bottle on his forehead was obstructing a quarter of his vision but he could see Butch had stopped walking towards him. He marked an invisible arc on the floor with the toes of his boots before he said "I can fix it."

"Like hell if I'm letting you inside me again." Butch winced.

Inside, the bright blue flashed under his eyelids. Caressed a heated line along his calves. Ran its dull claws along flesh, where the rigid edge of the counter was jammed into his lower back. Harkness focused on the coldness at the pad of his fingers, on his forehead. The cold calmed the heat mulling underneath. But he was burning everywhere else. He scrunched up his eyes so hard, he could see white spots in all this electric blue.

How did this happen? How could he – Just because Butch could type well, he decided to let him poke his fingers in his system? He opened himself up to this. He should've made better decisions. Rational ones. Logical, well-thought out ones. Then he wouldn't be here lost in this needy haze, reaching for something he couldn't find, that wasn't there.

He could handle this, though, couldn't he? He only had to wait it out and this irrational need would dissipate and leave him alone. He'd gone through some semblance of this before. This was like the annual full system checks the Institute put him through to ensure his every function was still at optimum level. Not all of his programs were being utilised because they weren't needed in his division. But the Institute checked regardless because when the time came, they had to know if they could convert him to something else... or scrap him for parts.

Harkness shuddered now, and not because of this hunger in him.

This could be like a full system check. Except this felt entirely different. This was an unavoidable urgency grappling onto his every nerve. Persuasive. Persistent.

The droplets from the bottle dripped onto his skin. It pulled him out of his thoughts. They slid down the bridge of his nose, splashing on the curve of his upper lip. The hunger took notice. It moved. Trailed down the same path. Licked that droplet from inside his mouth -

Harkness kicked his heel into the counter behind him. Pain stabbed his leg. Shocked every charge out of place. It only took a second before they reared up again. In hopelessness, Harkness called up the summonses; it was the reason he ever came here in the first place. He needed control. Order. His system ignored him. It kept the summonses on lockdown, deeming this senseless mess a more urgent matter for him to solve. How was this - His body surged with unrestrained desperation. He grasped the edge of the counter he was leaning on, exhaling everything in a rush.

"Y'know, some guys just rub it out and move on."

Harkness' eyes flew open to see Butch leaning against the opposite table, sitting in the kitchen's muted light. He was calmly drinking from the bottle of whiskey Harkness had given to him. Had Butch been drinking before Harkness knocked on the door? He regretted giving it to him right now. Far ahead, he could see that the door to Butch's room was open, the light spilling out into the dim hallway. He noted that the toothpick and pistol were no longer on Butch. He must've deposited them in his room. Bullshit. How long had he been unaware of this? He really wasn't at his best right now.

"I'm ignoring it," he bit out.

"Guess that explains why you're so tense all the time." Harkness glared at him but Butch wasn't looking at his face. Butch's gaze roamed over him, his body, unabashed and open. Calculating. Sizing him up. Harkness didn't bother trying to hide his condition. The bastard could probably tell by now, anyway. In front of him, Butch gulped a mouthful of whiskey, taking the bottle from his mouth and licking his lips.

Harkness turned away. He swallowed the curse on the tip of his tongue. There was a heavy throb in the hollow of his throat. Restless. Demanding. His body was getting bored of this coldness on his forehead. Distracted by the thin cotton of his shirt sliding over his skin. By the sharp twisting pull in his navel, slow and tight. He sucked in a breath. This was ridiculous. This wasn't getting any better.

He took the bottle off his forehead, cola sloshing within the glass. It felt like all the droplets left behind on his skin immediately sizzled into the air. He rested the bottle on his neck instead. He barely swallowed the whimper as his system jumped. The hot and cold were at war on his skin, pushing tremors where they met. Harkness rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had pulled him taut. Trying to move away from the insisting pressure inside his navel. Coiling. Spiralling. He shook his head to clear the haziness. It didn't help. This wasn't any better at all.

"Your hair's gettin' long," Butch commented, and Harkness jerked his eyes open.

"Tell my hairdresser," he said, his throat working the words against the glass. There was an echoing frisson underneath his skin at the motion. His system drank it in. He looked down at his boots; his toes were curling against the insoles.

"Barber. Not hairdresser," Butch corrected, his voice sounding much closer now. Deeper. Harkness heard the thud of Butch's whiskey bottle hitting the counter. Could feel its impact rippling up his back. And then there were fingers in his hair. He choked on a breath.

"You wanna be blonde this time?" Butch continued, separating strands of hair with his fingers like a professional. Gentle. So gentle. His body, system - both, responded to this with interest. Hummed inside. It reeled in its claws and just gave in. Sidled up to his every touch, tiny sparks accompanying. This touch was familiar, of course. He'd felt it when Butch was cutting his hair some amount of time ago, _undefined_ at this moment. Right now, this touch was relief. The breath he let out sounded like a sigh.

"Don't... want to look like a... fairy princess," he replied, swallowing at every other word. Butch chuckled in response, kneading slow circles on his scalp, blunt fingernails carding through his hair.

"In the Vault," Butch started and Harkness didn't really feel like cutting him off right now. "Everythin's got like a lock on it. You gotta open a lock just to take a piss. It's all top secret or whatever and we gotta hack into the terminals." He snorted. "Us Snakes and Nosebleed made this skeleton key code to get into them."

Harkness opened his eyes a fraction – when had he shut them? - to see Butch a little closer than he expected. Ghost of a smirk on his lips.

"Nosebleed?"

"Yeah. You met him." Butch smiled. "He's the other Vault kid." Right. Harkness had met him but didn't know his name until now. He was no expert on what humans named themselves. His own creators named him A3-21.

"Why'd... you need to get into terminals?"

"At first, it's 'cause it beats bein' bored. Things got different later." The smile faded. "The key code don't work for everythin', y'know, so you gotta switch things around sometimes."

"Is that what you..." Butch traced a curved line behind his ear. "...did to Pinkerton's terminal? To me?"

"Hey, it's not like I know that it's gonna... I mean, I just wanted to get in." Butch coughed. "I didn't know I was turning machines on or somethin'. But, but at least it ain't hurtin', right?"

No. It didn't hurt. But this didn't make everything better. This heat was distracting. It was keeping him drunk. He couldn't do anything in this state. Damn Tunnel Snake.

"I'm going to throw you off the ship," he threatened, sounding more resigned than intimidating. Butch smirked. Amused.

"Wrong side of the ship, tin man." When his fingers dipped downwards to his nape, crossing over from hair to skin, Harkness stilled. He was filled by this need to pull Butch closer to him. His system raised an alert, suggesting him to _take. _As calmly as he could, he nudged Butch away. Because, _hell_, they didn't do this.

"This maybe isn't the best time to play with my hair, barber," he said, this proximity pulling his voice lower. He found that he had placed his bottle of cola on the counter behind him some time ago. It was lukewarm in his grip. The coolness it had left on his skin was gone. He unclenched his fingers from it. Straightened up -

A broad hand swept up his thigh. The breath he let out shattered past his lips as a full-body shiver took him. He grasped Butch's hand, whose fingers were already twisting around the drawstring of his pants. He stared at him. Butch stared back. It took some seconds before he found his voice. "What are you doing?"

"Not playing," Butch drawled, winding his fingers around the laces, round and round, and not even trying to break out of Harkness' hold. "I'm fixin' you."

Bullshit.

"I'm not broken," he reasoned. Butch raised an eyebrow before he narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in them. He stepped close - pushed a muscular thigh between his legs. Fuck. Charges ran amok. Haywire. His thighs fell open. His hands were clenching and unclenching, torn between wanting to pull or push. It felt like his electricity was trying to rip through his skin. Yes, he did feel a bit broken right now. "...we don't do this."

"_You_ don't do this."

"Butch -" The rest of his words came out in scrambled stacatto. Butch slid his thigh up further. Cupped his neck where the bottle had been pressed into. It was a big difference from the chokehold the terminal's electricity had him in. Different from the bottle's cold touch. Buzzes sparked in his throat. His pulse jumped. Raced. Gone too fast for him to chase.

"Hark," Butch said, and it had always been 'tin man'. Always. Harkness tried to focus now. On his face. Eyes blue and dark. Pupils slightly dilated. Intense and heated as he stared at Harkness. There was no trace of amuse there. In the space between them, he whispered "Trust me." The same way he did on the bridge when he told him about his inner android. Those words. That intonation. Something like pleading but wasn't. They stayed like that for some time, Butch drawing coaxing patterns on the side of his neck. The thing was, it was that same trust that put Harkness in this situation here.

Harkness sighed and let go.

"Don't..." he started only to stop. Because Butch never listened to his warnings anyway. Nothing he said would make Butch obey. The snake made a pleased hum, as he unravelled the knot on his pants free. When Butch slipped his thumb under the hem of his shirt and traced a line down his skin, Harkness gave up talking. The hand on his neck slipped lower. Trailed down his chest, his stomach like he had made this path before. Then he moved lower still. Gripped him through his pants.

"Fuck," Butch said. His voice was a harsh whisper, ghosting over the side of his neck. Overwhelming. All the floating stray charges were wrenched down to where the pads of Butch's fingers were resting on skin. Warm. Urgent. Tempting. Butch dragged a coarse thumb over where he was throbbing, aching in his pants. His breathing hitched. He let out a hiss that might have been a word. "This must be drivin' you crazy," Butch murmured. Harkness couldn't do more than throw a grunt at the ceiling. Lost in the gentle, yet firm touch, a concentrated heat, travelling up and down his length. It held his sanity in the tight circle around him. Sliding over him. Twisting. It was like... he didn't have enough skin for this anymore. Not enough breath anymore. Had he already been this far gone since being unhooked?

He craned his neck back to level plane. In front of him, the light washed Butch's cheeks in a soft glow. A flush had tinted them red. His lower lip was trapped between his teeth. And he saw that Butch was affected by this as well, the cloth of his pants straining over his arousal.

"What do I do?" he asked, timing his words so that he wouldn't drown them out with his harsh breaths. He sounded like he was half a degree away from snapping. "You...you're reacting."

Butch peered up at him. Then down his own body. For a moment, he seemed to consider something before the red on his cheeks darkened a little more.

"Can you blame me? I've never seen an android in heat before." He smirked then, squeezing Harkness hard enough to make him blank out, spouting half-formed nonsense from his lips. "It's hot," Butch whispered, holding on to the 'h' of the word in his mouth a little longer, making it a breathy exhale over Harkness' lips.

"What do I do?" he asked again when he could work his mouth to make proper words.

"What do you wanna do, tin man?" Butch stared at him with something dark in his eyes. Waiting.

With shaky hands, Harkness reached out. Yanked Butch to him by the lapels of his jacket. And that... that felt so much more... so _much_. He saw nothing but bright blue for a second. He arched his back, feeling the sharp spike of pleasure surrounding him. Harkness crushed Butch to him. His body relished this feeling of someone else being close to him. Feeling that Butch was just as affected by this as he was. He shivered in all his heat. This was simultaneously better and worse. And still nowhere near enough for that hunger to let him go.

Butch let out a strangled sound. The hand that had been fondling him slipped out of his pants and clutched his shirt. Then Butch banged Harkness against the counter so hard, the stack of glasses behind him toppled over. He didn't hold back when he rutted against Harkness, letting him feel every inch of his body. Hard, firm, angular. Masculine. Male. His mass. His solidity. His weight. The life thrumming in him.

"Seriously?" Butch asked, voice thick with desire. He looked almost desperate. Wild. He'd never seen Butch like this. Harkness just nodded because his system wasn't concentrating on words right now. His body _craved_. _Needed_ with intensity he couldn't fathom.

All of a sudden, Butch stepped back, taking everything away from him. Harkness almost grappled him. He was struck by the cold, empty space around him where Butch had been. What the hell? This wasn't alright. It would've been fine some minutes ago. Not now. Had he -

"You comin' tin man?" Butch called to him, voice loud. He was standing, staring at him like he was getting impatient, running fingers through his hair.

Harkness took a step away from the counter. And swayed. He fell back. It... hurt to walk. Chuckling, Butch walked to him, threaded their fingers together and tugged him along. He steered them towards the corridor. It was approximately ten metres long, this hallway; he remembered that fact. It just seemed endless now. He squeezed Butch's hand because the static was escalating, because it was so _cold_ without him. Butch squeezed back. He could feel the promise of _more _in those fingers twisted around his and...

Harkness found himself breathing into the juncture between neck and shoulder, the metal teeth of the jacket's zipper grazing the side of his jaw. That metal was cooler than all the heat of his skin. He inhaled Butch's concoction of musk, sweat, leather, smoke with an underlying clean scent. There was an apology ready on his lips because he wasn't... He didn't mean to be this desperate. Didn't mean to pin Butch to the wall like this. He... he couldn't help it.

"I could've done this with all the terminals in the Vault?" Butch said, voice tinged with awe. His hands settled on the nape of Harkness' neck, teasing the place where the tube had connected with him. He muffled a groan into his dark hair.

"Why would you -" Butch shoved him against the opposite wall. He crashed into it, a writhing Tunnel Snake in his arms. "You were... out of options?"

"Nah," Butch answered, the word drawn out into a moan when Harkness pulled him in by his ass. Good. He felt so _good_. "But it's like... we all fuckin' grew up together... and you gotta be creative inside – and you, you're not - " his voice cut off and Butch clung to him, digging blunt nails into his arm, as he ground into Harkness, smothering needy sounds into his cheek. "Talk later, okay," he growled. Harkness had no problem with that.

He didn't know how they managed to arrive at Butch's room. But when they finally did, Butch extracted himself from him, slamming the door with so much force, it hit the doorjamb and bounced half-open.

"Fuck," Butch rasped, directing Harkness to the high table which his mattress lay on. The hunger had taken Harkness' voice. He was lost in this burning electric, feeling hands sliding up his skin under his shirt. This touch wasn't enough anymore and he pulled the shirt off his torso. The coolness prickled his skin and he shuddered. Butch ran his hands all over him, and everything yearned for _more_, for _him_. He... couldn't really handle this but Butch wasn't that much better, his breathing ragged on his throat.

He found himself naked and on his back, chin up to the ceiling, every breath triggering pinpricks of pleasure in his skin. Waiting for Butch. _Wanting_. He had his fingers curled around himself, and he watched his length moving through his fist, his hips jerking without any coordination. He was overcome. Engulfed by this intense bright blue inside. This numbing bliss. He felt close to release some strokes ago, but he couldn't bring himself over. He... He didn't like to lose control. He couldn't do that to himself. Turning over, he watched Butch rummaging through his pile of unlabeled bottles on the desk. He seemed to be looking for something. His lips were swollen. Tanned skin flushed. Hair a dark mess, strands of it matted on his forehead. Harkness followed the broad shoulders to the snake on his back to the sharp taper of his waist, the jacket pasted on his body. He'd never thought he'd see Butch like this... Would he think about this now that he had reference?

As he moved to kneel, the blanket dropped to the floor. Butch turned at the sound, eyes widening when they fell on Harkness. Harkness saw him shiver. Saw him twitch in the loose grip he had around himself. Saw the way he licked his lips and started walking to him; whatever it was he had been looking for was apparently forgotten.

"Holy fucking hell," Butch rasped. His boots were gone. Pants gone. Shorts gone. Pip-boy gone. Naked skin on display, glistening with sweat. Butch might have wanted to take the jacket off too but the moment the leather slipped off a shoulder, Harkness hauled him up. He couldn't take anymore visual stimulation. Couldn't take anymore. He moulded his palms along Butch's feverish skin, mapping his muscles as they stretched, arched into him. The smooth leather stuck to his chest, its stitching, and metal rivets scratching him as they both knelt on the mattress. Reaching between them, Harkness curled his fingers around Butch. Butch threw his head back and groaned.

In his grip, Butch didn't feel any different from himself. He was hard, throbbing in his fist. Hot. He traced the veins from root to tip, catching the silver drop leaking with his thumb and smearing it into his skin. In front of him, Butch licked a long stripe on his palm and swatted Harkness' hand away. He took both of them in his hands.

Everything blurred then. Everything was reduced to Butch's rough hands stripping him raw. Pulling sounds he didn't intend to let out. Every tug made him jerk his hips to meet it. He couldn't pick apart anything - everything was pushing him to the edge. He clung to Butch, balling his fist into the small of his back, digging his fingers into his thighs, feeling the way his muscles moved with purpose. Feeling Butch flex in the palms of his hands as he watched them both slipping and sliding through Butch's fist. In the midst of it all, Butch leaned their foreheads together and stared at him. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes; it made every wire twist into an uncomfortable, uncontrollable mess. He wasn't even looking down to where they were both trapped in his grip, quivering and needing. Harkness couldn't look away from him. He felt tight all over, like his skin was going to explode any second. Like he was wound up tight and the next puff of air would make him burst.

They were panting, rubbing against each other with no rhythm, no control, entwined around each other, grasping tighter, moving faster, pushing harder – and with a broken groan, he felt Butch shatter, burying his face into his chest, spurting over his abdomen. The sight, the feel of Butch throbbing, jerking against him, it was all he could take –

He was ripped out of his body into a million charges as the pleasure ravaged through him. It clutched everything, tugged all his muscles tight, took all his breath, his thoughts, his life - And then he crashed, every particle tore through him. Vibrating. Releasing energy. Giving him more and _more_. All control gone. He was choking on not enough air, shaking. Overheated. Overwhelmed. He pried his hands from where they were still holding onto Butch and that...

That was it.

He flopped onto his back, air rushing out of him. He twitched. Spasmed. Tiny sparks still razing his body, his system. His breaths were coming out in short, sharp gasps. He was spent.

Somewhere above him, Butch chuckled, a husky sound that sent shivers through him. He could feel Butch's hands on him again. They travelled a burning line across his chest, down his stomach... It was too much.

Harkness caught his wrist with a surprising amount of dexterity even though he was still dazed. He stared up Butch who was staring down at him. His throat felt parched. He coughed. He breathed in their mingled scents, thick in the air.

"So, you're turned off already, huh?" Butch said. There was something unsure he could read in his tone now, in his face, covered in partial shadow. Harkness loosened his grip, caressing the pulse on Butch's wrist.

"I'm not...turned off," he admitted. For a while they stayed that way, Butch's hand on his chest. Then Butch cupped the side of his neck again, the way he did at the start of this, running the pad of his thumb over his jaw. The feelings it pulled were different than the way it had been just now. This was warm. It was intimate. Inviting. Soothing. It calmed this madness a little. The look in his eyes was different too. Butch leaned down, his weight spreading over Harkness' legs. Harkness could feel the strands of his tousled hair tickle his forehead, the tension in his fingers laced around his, the tips of their noses brushing, the breath ghosting _over his parted lips_ -

Suddenly, there was a distinct whirring sound, punctuated with a click. They both froze, turning to Butch's door, which was still ajar. The lock mechanism of the front door had been activated.

Immediately, his system surged with all the data it had witheld from him. It reminded him why he was here in the first place. Reminded him that _fuck_, the Institute was still hunting him. That the hunters were already in Rivet City. And now... now they had found him. Bullshit.

"Stay here," he ordered. Harkness pushed up. Butch shoved him back. He was shocked by how easy he went down.

"My turf, tin man," Butch warned, already crawling off him. Harkness wanted to protest but he saw that he was still shaking. He was running on empty. Butch jumped off the table with grace. Wiping his stomach with what looked like Harkness' shirt, he frantically pulled on his shorts. Zipped up his jacket. He picked up his toothpick from the table, the pistol in his other hand. At the door, he gave Harkness an unreadable look. Then he disappeared into the dim corridor outside. Harkness watched Butch's shadow shifting along the wall. Inch by inch. It went out of sight behind the door.

There was a sudden yelp. No. A sharp cry of pain. Things clattered to the ground. Bullshit. Harkness made to force himself up – when Butch laughed.

"Welcome back, Pinky," he greeted Pinkerton, who was audibly upset at being jumped.

Right.

Harkness sank into the mattress. Relieved. Exhausted. Drained. With one last spasm, he closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 6

**Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for reading. Also, thank you for sending me your feedback/review/comments.**** I really appreciate it. I wish you a great day.**

Edited. Thanks, Murder Junkie :)

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 6**

He woke up to coldness. It blew over his cheeks, his arms and chest, fading away as it neared his waist. A contrast to the warm, uniform softness he was lying down on, his back sinking into the mattress underneath. He wanted to move but his body seemed un-ready. Unhurried. There was a pleasant throb in every nerve as currents flowed through him, coating the rawness he could feel in his wires. He shifted his legs on the mattress. Slowly, his system pulsed as he stretched, feeling both lazy and alert at the same time. He opened his eyes and saw the blanket around him. A whitish cloth with a blue patch on a corner. It... wasn't his. This mattress wasn't his. This ceiling wasn't his. This room... it wasn't his. Harkness inhaled a long breath.

So, last night did happen.

Of course it did. He didn't have a great capability to imagine a lot of things. And he certainly didn't imagine that. Or Butch...

Harkness turned his head.

Butch wasn't here.

The space next to him was empty but there were traces of warmth in the mattress. A faint indentation where a body could have lain next to him. Butch wasn't anywhere in the room.

He should probably go... find him and... talk.

Harkness lifted himself up, flipping the blanket off him as he did so. Right. He was still naked underneath the blanket. At the other high table, his pants were draped over one of the bar stools but he didn't see his shirt anywhere. The floor was rid of his clothes. He swung his legs off the mattress and the table. His bare feet touched the ground. Looking up, he spotted his boots standing by the now-closed door; no sign of Butch's boots. He walked to them. He didn't know what to think of the deep ache that was still pulling onto his every step, or the way the ache felt _good_. His system didn't seem exhausted, even though he felt like he had drained all his energy last night... _last night_. Forgoing his boots, he opened the door and peeked out into the corridor.

The 'Tunnel Snakes rule' message greeted him from the opposite wall. Other than that, the bow was quiet. Very quiet. To the right, the kitchen was dark. No one there. To the left, both doors that led to the stairwell were open and he could see through to the entrance. The front room was empty as well. No Butch anywhere. He might be in the lower deck where the storage was.

He re-entered Butch's room, feeling a little out of place here. When he took his pants off the stool, something dropped onto the floor. It looked to be a piece of paper, torn off a page in one of Butch's books. Harkness put his pants on and tied the drawstring into a tight knot before he picked up the fallen paper. He unfolded it to see Butch's familiar handwriting.

_stay here tin man.  
i'm in rivet city._

Bullshit.

Harkness grabbed a folded shirt from the table and pulled it over his head as he jammed his feet into his boots. He hoisted his rifle which had been on the table – how the hell was this here? - over his shoulder and rushed outside, remembering at the very last moment to slam the door shut. He stepped out into the bright sunny yellow of noon. 12:16, his system helpfully supplied. It would've been more helpful to wake him up 7 hours earlier like it usually did. He had missed the first shift. The soles of his boots slapped on the metal path as he returned to Rivet City.

Damn Tunnel Snake. What the hell was he thinking going to the city on his own? Didn't he realise -

"Decided to return?" Lana's voice shot through his thoughts. He jerked his head up to see her smile, the one she always gave him when she was relieved to see him. He slowed down to a halt in front of her.

"Didn't know you had bridge duty today," he replied. He caught the way she eyed him and recognised that look. This was a mixture of second-in-command Lana and friendly Lana. Just Lana who wasn't an android hunter. Just Lana who had been worried about him. He took note of the other two guards on duty with her, Riki and Mel, having a conversation as they leaned over the bridge railing. They nodded at him in greeting.

"I could use the fresh air," Lana said, tapping the stock of her rifle into a rhythm as she waited for him to answer.

"Sorry I'm late. I ...overslept." At his confession, she tilted her head. Her smile turning teasing.

"So I heard. Barber told me."

"You saw him?" Where did he go? And what the hell did she say to him to make him answer her questions? "Did you threaten him?"

"No, I didn't." Her eyes widened as though she was affronted. "But if I did, it'd be justified. He was _very_ evasive."

"He would be evasive about the weather."

"Well, you'd know." She laughed and shook her head. Harkness glanced at the other guards. Their lack of attention towards them was good. It meant that they weren't the hunters hunting him. Their lack of attention towards anything other than each other wasn't so good, though. He wondered if he should tell them to stop slacking and keep their eyes on the bridge. He'd let Lana deal with that.

"Any strangers on the ship?" he asked.

"Some Steelers came over from the purifier to stock up this morning around nine," Lana answered, squinting as she recalled the information. "No one else."

"Right." He walked away and grasped the handle to the stairwell door. "Get some rest, Lana," he called out as he entered the city.

As soon as the door shut behind him, he felt trapped. Cornered. Dread weighed down on him. His system noted the door on the left that led to the middle deck; the stairs ascending to the upper deck; stairs descending to the Muddy Rudder. It listed every possible place any hunter could be hiding. Calculated all the paths to get around the ship, to get to him, to get to Butch. _Fuck_. He had to find him. He had to get to the Muddy Rudder. Because where else could the barber be?

Suddenly, the door to the middle deck swung open. Harkness faced it. And all the words he had planned died on his lips. He hadn't expected his system to seize him like this.

Butch's eyes were wide as they stared back at him, lips parted but not saying a word. He still had that bruise on his brow from his errand yesterday. But his jacket - he wasn't wearing his jacket. The parted lapels of the 101 jumpsuit revealed a white shirt underneath, framing his collarbones. Butch stood there speechless until he visibly shook himself and slammed the door behind him with a bang.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?" he demanded, walking fast to Harkness. "You want the Insti-tute to get you or somethin'?" he hissed. Butch made about to grab his arm and Harkness snapped.

"You shouldn't be here," he stated, tense all over again.

"What? They're huntin' you. What do they want with me?"

"Don't you think they won't recognise you?" Butch frowned in confusion.

"What're you talkin' about?"

"You're the one Zimmer hired." Butch paused. "You're the one who gave him the android component, the information no one else had. Don't you think they won't want to know more? Especially if they think I'm still in operation?" Butch looked over his shoulder as though those hunters were hovering behind. Then he turned back to Harkness and leaned towards him.

"I can handle them," he said gently, like he was trying to calm Harkness down.

"No, you can't," Harkness said because it was the truth. "You're going back to the bow."

"Fuck no," Butch protested, getting riled up.

"I'm _taking_ you back to the bow."

"You ain't _takin'_ me nowhere-"

The door to the midship deck swung open again. Bullshit. Harkness stopped short of pulling the rifle on Vera.

"Harkness," Vera called, sounding cheerful. She strolled to him with a huge smile on her face, Angela following close behind her, both oblivious to how on edge he was feeling right now. Vera couldn't be the hunter, could she? She barely knew how to shoot a gun. The same went for Angela; she wouldn't hurt a bloatfly unless it was dead. Moreover, for approximately four months now, she was distracted with the priest-in-training Diego. From the blush on her cheeks, he guessed that they had probably been talking about Diego. "I didn't realise you're having a day off," Vera said. What made her -

"I'm not having a day off," he told her. Her smile wavered.

"I see." Her eyes lowered and Harkness followed her gaze to his armour... only it wasn't his armour. It was Butch's shirt. Right.

_Right._

"We're heading to Gary's. You're welcome to join us if you want," she invited them. "I'll see you later, Harkness. You too, Butch." The women walked past and exited through the door behind them. Harkness could hear their footsteps moving away. Then it was quiet again. Harkness unclenched his hands off his rifle. Crossed out two more people from the list of potential hunters. How the hell was he going to do this?

"Hmmm," Butch hummed next to him. Harkness saw that he was closer. Staring at him with his dark eyes like he could see past skin and skim his metal. He raked his eyes over Harkness and said in a low voice "You look good in my shirt." Heat prickled up his neck at the comment.

"Mine was gone."

"It's in the laundry room..." Laundry room? "...hanging next to my jacket."

"What happened to your jacket?"

"You," Butch answered simply, smirking, showing a sharp canine. "And me."

Right.

Of course.

Butch peered at him again, eyes roaming over his face, darting down to his lips, his shirt. "You okay?" he asked in a whisper and Harkness let out a long breath, letting himself take this quiet moment to calm down.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah? You were really... out of it, y'know, last night." Harkness didn't answer, feeling heat blooming across his chest. Feeling a deep sense of embarrassment, awkwardness and... something else. A mixture of things he didn't understand. "You remember? What happened."

"I don't forget," he replied as he met Butch's gaze. "Are you... alright?"

"Yeah." A corner of Butch's lips tipped up into an amused smirk. He did seem fine. Unbothered. Calm and relaxed. He supposed... Butch _had_ done this before, then. Should he wonder about this? Had things changed between them? Or stayed the same? They stood staring at each other until the smirk on Butch's face faded and he turned serious. "I'm not goin' back to the bow. Pinky's not too happy with me right now," he said. "Besides, we gotta get to the bottom of this, right?"

'We' he said. And Harkness realised that he should have expected this. Should have seen this coming. He should've told Butch about this. Because Butch was a part of this no matter... No matter if Harkness shared this with him last night. Because Butch had been a part of this from the moment he took that job from Zimmer. The moment he took that job from Pinkerton. The moment he found out about Harkness and involved himself in this. Seeing the determination in him, the tension set across his shoulders, Harkness couldn't deny that he didn't know Butch would be this way. He knew that the Tunnel Snake would stay here and they could end up either arguing semantics or figuring this out.

"Alright," Harkness said. "But we do this by my rules."

"Oh, like you know better?"

"Yes, I do." Harkness patted his pockets in the hope of finding a cigarette even though he knew they were in his other pants. "First of all, the bridge tower is out of bounds. Private Jones has a good memory. If anything happens, he'd remember if you visited." Butch cocked an eyebrow as he listened. "If you find anyone or anything suspicious, don't annoy them, don't poke them, don't provoke them, don't piss them off. You tell me. Got it?" Butch scowled, looking about to protest again. Harkness straightened up. "My main concern is the safety of everyone on this ship, including yours."

"Is that it?" Butch asked. The truth was, Harkness had other concerns but he doubted Butch would agree to anything else. Plus, listing things like 'Don't steal anything' or 'Don't make a mess' would just give the Tunnel Snake ideas. Harkness nodded. Butch ran his fingers through his hair. "So what happens after?"

"We compare notes." Get to the bottom of this.

"At Gary's galley? Around..." Butch glanced down at his pip-boy. "...six-ish?" Then he looked up at Harkness expectantly. There was a hint of a smirk on his lips that was... It made him think about... Harkness adjusted his shirt, feeling constricted and exposed all of a sudden.

"...sure." Butch's smirk widened.

"See you, then." Butch brushed past him. "Chief Harkness," he added, his name sounding like coaxing in his mouth. Had Butch always called him like that? Butch climbed down the stairs without a backward glance at Harkness, the '101' on his back moving further and further away.

Alone again, Harkness stared up at the upper deck. He needed to gear up. He needed to change to his armour before confronting android hunters... and everything else.


	8. Chapter 7

**Hey, everyone. Hope you're having a great day. **

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 7**

There were damp footprints leading out of the communal bathroom. Five toes, heavy steps making wet impressions on the floor. He followed the trail until it faded; no more water on the soles to make prints with. With sheet metal and junk littering the corridors, what kind of idiot would walk around barefoot? His system calculated a possible path the steps had gone and Harkness found his way to Saint Monica's Church. Peeking in, he saw Father Clifford and Sister kneeling down at one of the pews, hands clasped in prayer. Sounds of murmuring filled the air. Next to Sister were his socks and boots. They were laid out to dry because they were wet. Just like his bare feet. He must've been working on the bathroom pipes. Harkness left, crossing Sister and Father Clifford off his list of suspected hunters.

Passing by the Weatherly hotel, he saw Mr Buckingham offering to make Vera a drink because her 'speech patterns indicated stress'. Vera thanked Mr Buckingham and without noticing Harkness, resumed writing in her book. Down the hallway, Harkness heard the Cantellis through their shut door. He couldn't make out Paulie's slurred speech, but he could hear Cindy pleading with Paulie. 'Just stop, Paulie, please.' Once, some time ago, Preston had suggested placing Paulie in one of the rooms in the lower deck and cutting all the drugs to his system. Paulie had rejected the idea, but back then, he wasn't as strung out as he was now. Maybe it was time they offered to help again.

Harkness continued his rounds. The walls and hallways all looked the same. Felt the same. Nothing had changed. Nothing looked tainted by the Institute's touch.

On the upper deck, Harkness found Shrapnel leaning against the wall next to the room he shared with Flak. The man greeted him with a grunt, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. Through the open door, Harkness could see Flak changing the sheets of both beds in the room, the mattresses lying bare on the floor. With his usual gruffness, Shrapnel asked Flak if he was going to take much longer with the beds. Flak replied that he wouldn't take too long if Shrapnel lent a hand.

"Raiders don't _make_ beds," Shrapnel reasoned.

"You're no raider, buddy," Flak replied.

"Well, you ain't no slaver, neither. So quit tryin' to put a collar on me." Flak laughed in response and Shrapnel smirked. Harkness walked away. Two more non-android hunters, non-slavers and non-raiders to cross off his list.

He entered the Science Lab. It was empty now that the Rivet City scientists were involved in Project Purity at the Jefferson's Memorial. There were half-finished experiments along the desks. Notes. Folders. Clipboards. Loose sheets of paper. Running his hand along the lockers, he found them shut tight. Held fast with the bolts. No tampering on the hinges or the locks. Papers on the desk reflected the findings of fruits and vegetables cultivated under different light conditions within the lab. Fresh apples. Fresh carrots. Fresh potatoes. There was an empty mug on a desk which contained mutfruit juice that had long gone sour. As he turned to head out, he saw that one of the desk lamps was switched on, its light shining onto the tabletop. It hadn't been switched on the last time he came here. One of the scientists might have returned, and forgotten about it. Or was it someone else? Harkness reached for the lamp. Switched it off.

17:39. He headed to the marketplace.

Bannon was reading at his stall. Engrossed in a book entitled 'Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor', he was mouthing the words as he read. On the other side of the marketplace, Seagrave was busy, scribbling onto one of his blueprints with a pencil. When he was done writing, he jammed the pencil into the space between his visor and helmet. He paced for a while, before yanking the pencil out to scribble again. The Young family was having dinner at Gary's Galley with both Bryan Wilks and James Hargrave. C.J. was being teased by the boys and she stuck her tongue out at them. When she saw Harkness watching, she waved at him. Harkness waved back.

He didn't know what to make of this. All of this.

There was no trace of the Commonwealth that he could see. He'd have known if any android hunters moved into the ship. He'd have seen the signs long ago if any Rivetians were working for the Institute.

What was he trying to find here? Why was he suspecting these people when he had vowed to protect them?

What the hell was he doing?

But...

The summonses had said that someone was here in Rivet City. They had told him to 'come back'. They threatened to take all this away from him. How could he ignore the summonses?

"You're early." Butch's voice shot through his thoughts. He hadn't heard him coming. Harkness looked away from the children to see Butch watching the same scene. He had stripped out of the upper half of his jumpsuit, its empty sleeves tied around his waist. There were scars on his left arm, long pale lines crossing the skin. He didn't notice them yesterday. What else didn't he notice? Probably a lot. He had been... distracted.

"You're late," he said. It was 19:03. Butch turned to him. Shrugged with no apology.

"Come on," he said. "I'm starving." He slid his fingertips along Harkness' wrist as he started walking to Gary's. It was a casual touch, something he'd done before but it still made Harkness pause for a moment before he followed. When they reached Gary's Galley, Butch slumped into a chair. Harkness took the seat next to him at the table, adjusting his rifle so that it wouldn't dig into his back.

"Evening, gentlemen," Gary greeted them with his boyish smile. "What'll you have?" His eyes darted from Harkness to Butch to Harkness.

"Lurk Cake," Butch replied. Gary took the order down into his notebook, the tip of his tongue stuck on his upper lip. His handwriting was big, full of curves and loops.

"Get the brahmin steak," Harkness said.

"Chief wants the steak," Butch repeated, and Gary nodded, writing that down too.

"The steak is yours," Harkness told Butch. The snake frowned at him. Confused. "You're 'starving'. A Mirelurk cake isn't enough for a meal." 5 seconds of staring at him later, Butch nodded.

"What're you having, then?"

"A drink." Butch ordered a 'couple of colas' and Gary wrote that down. "Put it on my tab, Gary," Harkness added.

"Fuck, no," Butch protested. "I got paid today." Yes, Harkness could tell that from the stray strands of hair on his shirt. Ginger ones. Blonde ones. Butch had been cutting hair.

"Right. I get paid too." Butch bristled.

"Seriously, I'm payin'-"

"No, no. Actually," Gary interrupted, still with that smile on his face. "It's on the house. It's been a while since we had Chief Harkness as a customer." Bullshit. He didn't realise that Gary took note of that.

"Gary, there's no need..." Gary patted Harkness' shoulder, stopping him mid-sentence.

"On the house," the cook repeated with a wink, then headed to his kitchen, whistling a tune.

"Is this what you get for bein' the Chief?" Harkness turned to see Butch's smirk. He looked pleased. No longer annoyed about the payment.

"Why? Do you want to be the head of security now?"

"I'm already 'head of security' on my turf. Just nobody's givin' me free drinks and stuff." Trailing his eyes over Harkness, his smirk widened. "Well, other than you." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his elbows on the table. He had this flush on his face and down his throat. Reddish skin that disappeared under the collar of his white shirt. It was warmer here than it was in the bow. Was this warmer than the Vault too? The bruise on Butch's knuckles was still there. Still healing.

_Thunk._

Two bottles of cola landed onto the table. Angela smiled at them, saying 'Enjoy' before she walked away. Butch snatched a bottle up to drink and Harkness curled his fingers around his own bottle. He felt his body shudder at the sensation. At this familiarity of glass in the palm of his hand. Cold wet glass that was plastered on his forehead, on the skin of his throat as he tried to calm himself down yesterday – to no avail. He shook himself. Raised the bottle to his lips. Took a gulp of cola. It was sweet on his tongue. Cold as he swallowed. He rested it on the table again, right where it had made a wet ring of condensation.

"So," Butch started, pressing his arm close to his. "How's your day?"

"Alright, I suppose. How's yours?"

"Bo-ring," Butch drawled.

"You didn't find anything?" Harkness asked.

"Sure I did. History shit in the museum. Some bunch of airplane parts or boat parts or whatever. Textbooks and stuff. C.J.'s lost teddy; James hid it in one of the lockers and forgot about it." He drank more cola. "I was lookin' for, y'know, things they can send you notes with. All I found was a bunch of broken terminals all over the ship." He frowned. "What's up with that, anyway?"

In the past, Lana's father had this idea to connect all the terminals into a network so that security officers could update and access the database on every deck. In the middle of testing it, Project Purity 1.0 happened and the idea was abandoned.

"They're decoration," Harkness answered instead. "Anything else? Anyone you suspect?"

"Brock." The Muddy Rudder bouncer. Always the bouncer. Harkness visited the bar earlier today and the first thing Brock did was to warn him that the 'kid next door's out and about'. Brock added that if anything was missing, it had to be Butch because the snake seemed like someone who 'can't keep his hands to himself'. "Swear he's got somethin' to hide. The fucker."

"I'm sure he does." Most people did. "He's not the hunter, though. And Bonny's not going to fire him." Because Brock was good at his job. Harkness didn't have to make frequent visits to the bar because the bouncer had it under control. Also, if anyone from the Institute offered Brock a job to find an escaped android, he'd probably tell them to leave the bar if they weren't buying a drink.

Angela arrived with their orders. Butch started eating, cutting the steak into neat pieces before putting the slices into his mouth. There was certain skill in the way he handled the cutlery. The knife, particularly.

"Want some?" Butch asked, licking his lips. Harkness declined, watching as he enjoyed the food.

They... They didn't spend time together like this. Didn't even eat a meal together. They shared colas when Harkness visited the bow. They had brief conversations on the bridge before or after Butch returned from an errand. They greeted each other when Butch came over to Rivet City to stock up on supplies. But they didn't spend long periods of time in each other's company. Not like this. Not like yesterday.

He watched Butch swallowing the last of his cola. He must've been thirsty. Harkness pushed his own mostly full bottle to him. There was a question Butch didn't ask and Harkness didn't answer as Butch took that offered bottle and sipped.

What, now? What was he supposed to do now?

All he had that could potentially be a lead was the lamp that was switched on in the Science lab. What this even a lead? Anyone could've switched the lamp on and left. Anyone at all. But, that didn't matter. Because he had to pursue this, didn't he? There was nothing else to go on. What other possibility was there? The only trace of the Institute Harkness could find was himself and -

He stilled at the thought, feeling cold all of a sudden.

Was it...

Was it him? Was this all...him?

"Man, I'm stuffed," Butch said. He was a warm weight by his side. Harkness felt something in his chest squeeze tight, take his breath before he turned to Butch.

"You're done?" he asked, noticing the empty plates and bottles. "Let's go." He didn't want to be here anymore.

Outside, the sky was already dark. The Jefferson's memorial was bright, contaminating the sky with its light as it worked through the night. Some Steelers walked along the catwalk, gatling guns at the ready.

Next to him, Butch was putting the upper half of his jumpsuit back on, pushing his arms into its sleeves, pushing the sleeve under his pip-boy with practised ease. He zipped it up. All the way up to his neck. "What're you gonna do now?" he asked. Harkness didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. What could he say?

After some time, 6 minutes 12 seconds, Butch said "I'm headin' back." He started walking. Harkness followed. "What? You're walkin' with me?" Harkness nodded. They travelled in silence to the broken bow. Butch opened the door.

At the first sight of the front room, Harkness stopped. He was bombarded by his memories, thoughts, everything. Of every time he came here looking for those summonses in his head. Every system check he endured to get proof of them. Every report he read and finding no trace of them. The terminal didn't even detect them. All these messages, these summonses inside him – If nothing was wrong out here, the only logical explanation was that...

There was something wrong inside _himself_.

"Tin man?" Butch called because Harkness hadn't moved. He was stuck on the path to the bow, bathed in darkness. Butch was in the middle of stepping inside but he turned away from the door to Harkness.

"I..." Harkness started. "I think I'm..." Going rogue. Malfunctioning. Those words were on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't say them. Didn't want to. For a long time he stood like that before Butch pulled him inside. Made him sit at the table next to the entrance.

"I'll get your shirt," he said. Harkness barely watched him move through the open door and walk down the stairwell. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the lower deck light up. Harkness stared at his hands. Stared at his perfectly laced up boots. He shut his eyes.

Must he... be reformatted? Everything would be lost, then, wouldn't they? But what else... Why was this -

Suddenly, static razed through him. His eyes flew open in shock. Electricity rushed up his back. Clung to his wires. Buzzed through his skull.

_**20:22. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};  
**_**got a problem**

_No. _

He clutched his head. What was this? What the hell was going on? Why was he doing this to himself?

"What the- Tin man?" Butch appeared, grasping his hands. "Fuck. What are – What's wrong?"

Him. His system was going wrong. Butch pried his hands away from his face. Harkness parted his lips to speak. He looked up at Butch - and froze at what he saw. He hauled Butch close. Stared at his pip-boy.

**Message sent from [BD01_SK] to [0] at 20:22:31**  
_**got a problem**_


	9. Chapter 8

**Hello, everyone. Sorry for my absence. Life's been pretty challenging recently. But, here's another chapter. :D Hope you enjoy it. Happy 2013. I wish you a great year ahead. Take care, everyone. **

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 8**

He didn't remember how he got back to Rivet City that night. He just remembered turmoil. Anger. He remembered shoving Butch away, his hand around an arm anchoring him to Harkness. He remembered telling Butch that he knew _everything_. That if he wanted to keep his arm, he'd better get the hell away from him. He told Butch to quit pretending. To stop this act. To stop this. Because Harkness _knew_. There, on his pip-boy, he had seen the list of summonses Butch had sent. Every one of them matched the summonses in his head. This game was over. _This was over_. Butch balked. Caught. And Harkness left. He couldn't stay there anymore.

It had been 5 days 12 hours 13 minutes 8 seconds since. Harkness hadn't attempted to access his system for the summonses. He didn't want to see them. Didn't want to think about them. Didn't want anything to do with them. Or _him_.

How did he get taken like this? He should've been able to see it. But he didn't. The only person he hadn't considered... This possibility didn't even cross his mind because it had been Butch who had found out about his inner android, Butch who had revealed the hidden memories, Butch who had made Zimmer give up on ever finding Harkness.

But it had always been him, hadn't it? Always. It had been him from the start. And Harkness didn't see it.

The sound of wood splintering brought Harkness to the present. He looked at his hand to see a pencil in his grip, a hair's breadth away from snapping in half. What the hell was he doing? Harkness released the pencil onto the table. Private Jones, in a hurry to chase CJ and James out of the tower again, had banged one of his tentacles into the desk and toppled it. Harkness picked up the rest of the fallen objects. He went downstairs.

In the pantry, he spotted Lana finishing up a bowl of dry Sugar Bombs. There was no one else around. The guards who were on duty had already started their rounds. The ones who weren't, were asleep in their cots. Lana asked him if he wanted breakfast. He shook his head. He didn't miss the way she regarded him with concern. She didn't comment, however, and they headed to the middle deck.

There were two rooms here that were under-utilised. One was next to the marketplace, the other was opposite Saint Monica's Church. There was rust along the wall plates, around the rivets which held them in place. Both rooms smelled musty. Nothing the Youngs couldn't fix. For years, the rooms were used as places for storage. This was where Rivetians scrounged around, where Bonny searched for furniture when a brawl broke out and chairs became the casualties. There were lockers in there. Chairs. Shelves. Crates. A pre-war motorcycle. Seagrave Holmes could probably take it apart for scrap metal if he wanted to; then, he wouldn't be so stingy with it and Butch wouldn't have to scavenge.

Right. He didn't give a damn.

Standing in the room near the marketplace, Lana and Harkness watched Ted, Sister and two guards carrying the things out of the room. Ted was sharing some anecdotes with Sister as they worked, and Sister just grunted in response, though he wasn't annoyed. Harkness listened to their easy chatter.

What was the point of this? What did this accomplish? All those summonses... What did Butch want? Did he want to see how long Harkness would take until he broke? Butch had already seen him when he was most vulnerable. Open. Exposed.

Something clenched painfully in his chest.

Had that all been part of his plan? Trigger everything so Harkness would let him in?

Sister and Ted hauled the last of the crates out of the room, banging them onto the floor. Lana remarked that the room looked so much bigger now that it was empty. It was still 12 by 14 feet like his system had said. Those dimensions hadn't changed throughout the course of clearing it.

"What do you think we'll end up using this room for?" Lana asked. There had been suggestions to make a classroom, another living space or a library. Preston had also requested a temporary place to keep Paulie Cantelli isolated and away from his drug habits – if the man ever agreed to get help.

"I have no idea."

"Hark," Lana called. "Is something... Is there a problem?" It was the same way he asked anyone that question. He had learned to ask like that from Lana when he first started in Rivet City. She advised him to be more conversational instead of barking out 'You have a problem. Tell me what it is.' As he looked at her, he saw that she was concerned. That she was worried about him again. Harkness turned to her, to tell her that he was fine – and stilled mid-sentence.

He hated how his system seized up like this. Hated how his body reacted to him. Butch's eyes stayed on Harkness as he stood in the doorway. He saw his gaze roam over him. Eyes piercing and intense. Lana, who was still waiting for Harkness to speak, followed his focus to the door.

"We need to talk," Butch announced. Lana made a soft hum in surprise. She raised a thin eyebrow as she left, giving Harkness a meaningful look. He caught the warning look she gave Butch but he didn't see it, his gaze still locked on Harkness. When she was gone, Butch entered the room. He shut the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking was loud.

Across from him, Butch looked the same as he always did. Nothing out of place. Hair combed perfectly. Leather jacket on, wrapped around himself. All neat and clean. Pristine. Like he had just stepped out of the Vault. The bruise on his knuckles was gone by now, like the one on his brow. Harkness glanced at his pip-boy. Felt something twist in his stomach. Felt tension running up his back.

"You haven't come round in a while," Butch drawled, tone too casual.

"What do you want?" Harkness stated. "Don't waste my time."

"Shit. You don't gotta be so cold."

"Right." Harkness straightened up. "We're done here." He started walking, heading to the door. Butch grabbed him.

"Will you just -" Harkness yanked his arm away from the grip. Hard. Butch cursed and some emotion flashed in his eyes; something like _hurt_. Harkness' pulse jumped at that - but he didn't want to care right now.

"If you have something to say, get to it," Harkness said. "Or I guess, you can always send me another message."

"It ain't like that, dammit," Butch protested. "Listen... those notes." Butch took a deep breath. "I didn't send them to you."

"Bullshit."

"Yeah. No. Fuck." Butch rubbed his face. "Yeah, I sent them," he confessed, finally. _Finally._ Didn't make a fucking difference. "But they're not for you. I'm tellin' you. I..." Butch winced. He ran his fingers through his hair. Sighed. It was a frustrated sound that made something in him ache. Against his better judgement, Harkness faced him. Waited for him. Watched him worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "I sent them to someone else," Butch said. "Someone else's pip-boy. You just got them instead."

_What?_ This wasn't what he thought at all. Was this true? But why would Butch lie about any of it? What did this all mean, then? What was... The messages weren't meant for him?

Harkness felt his energy surge. Felt everything rush up to his head. His system throbbed. He knew he should be relieved that this wasn't part of some scheme to break him. But what did that make him in all this? He was just someone caught in the way?

"Hey," Butch called, walking to him. Gentle now. Like he was trying to calm Harkness down. "It's just a mistake."

"Damn you," Harkness breathed. Butch stopped in his tracks. "You had me thinking I was being chased. You had me thinking they found me. I thought you... I thought I was going rogue." Harkness could hear the edge in his own voice as he spoke. "Now you tell me it's a mistake?" He inhaled a barely steady breath. He didn't know what to think anymore. "Damn right it's a mistake. Everything's a mistake."

"Fuck you." Butch bristled. "How the hell was I supposed to know you got the notes? I thought none of them were gettin' through."

"Then why'd you keep sending them?"

"That's none of your fuckin' business," Butch snarled. "If you told me, none of this woulda happened."

"If you didn't send them, we won't be in this mess," Harkness countered. "I wouldn't have gotten them. I won't have to keep coming to the bow." Butch stilled, lips parted.

"So, that's why you came to the bow," he said, voice soft, no hint of the anger he had been expressing.

"That's not what I..." But it was true, wasn't it? He wouldn't have gone to the bow for those system checks and endured the scans if the summonses hadn't come to him.

Butch reached out a hand, but he retracted it without touching Harkness. Let it hang in the air between them. "That night," Butch said, voice deep and rough. He could feel his words brush his cheek. "You and me. What's that about?" Harkness looked away. "Did we fuck up?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say anythin'," Butch hissed, clenching his fists like he wanted to hit Harkness. "Like the notes, if they were such a _fuckin'_ issue, why the hell didn't you reply them the first time?"

"I can't."

"The hell you can't." Butch moved away. "You got no problem tellin' me to piss off. Tellin' me to go. You could've fuckin' replied -"

"_I can't_," Harkness lashed out. "Summonses go one-way. The Institute sends them and the synth obeys them. Did you forget that I'm an android?" Butch clamped his mouth shut. Harkness could hear the remnants of his own voice echoing off the walls.

He no longer wanted to be here. No longer knew what to think. Everything they did – he didn't know what they meant anymore. Did they mean anything at all?

"Look..." Butch started. Harkness shook his head.

"Enough," he said. "Let's... end this."

"What're you talkin' bout?" Butch asked, frowning.

"As long as this link is active, I'll keep intercepting your messages."

"So, what? You just wanna... cut this off?" It sounded like Butch was pleading - but he wasn't, was he? Why would he? "Don't you wanna talk about this?"

"What else is there to talk about?" It was Harkness' system. He couldn't reply to all these notes like Butch wanted; they didn't belong to him anyway. He couldn't afford to let anything, anyone mess him up. Not again. "All you'll ever get from me is a one-way connection."

Butch didn't say anything in response. He didn't even seem to be breathing. They stayed like that for a while, 13 seconds, his system counted. Not speaking. Just standing. It felt like everything just stopped going. Then Butch cursed, a low hiss from his mouth.

"Fine," he said with a certain sense of finality that made Harkness face him. He was staring at the floor, sucking on his lower lip. He placed his hands in his pockets. "I'll tell Pinky. He'll figure it out and...yeah." Harkness watched him walk to the door. His usual gait. His brisk, soundless steps. Butch unlocked the door and stepped outside. Then, he paused. Looked over his shoulder at Harkness. There was a darkness in his eyes that Harkness couldn't read. "You're right, tin man," he said. "I forgot you're an android." Then, he was gone.

The room was still _12 by 14 feet._ It felt so much bigger now. Emptier.

The walk to the bow seemed longer than usual that evening. He could feel the dry breeze blowing on his skin. He turned the handle of the door. It was locked. He knocked on the door instead. No answer. He knocked again. Three more hard knocks and he heard footsteps. The mechanism whirred and the door opened.

"Butch," Harkness started. His voice trailed off when he saw that it wasn't Butch in the doorway. "Doctor Pinkerton?"

"There you are," the doctor muttered, eyeing him critically. His shirt was stained, its sleeves rolled up. "Humanity must be affecting your punctuality," Pinkerton drawled. "Well, come on in. Don't make me hold the door open for you." The scientist let the door go and Harkness caught it before it hit him. "I have a clue on what to do but I need to look over your programming."

"Where's...?" Harkness asked when he entered the front room. No sign of Butch here. Or in the hallway ahead.

"The kid?" Pinkerton shrugged. "He already left." What? "It's about time. He's been delaying the trip for a while. Don't know why he's suddenly so eager to go." Pinkerton glanced at him before continuing the journey. "You didn't know?" he scoffed. "He says he tells you everything."

"No," Harkness said, tracing Butch's shut door with his eyes. "Not everything."


	10. Chapter 9

**Hello, everyone. Thanks for reading. Have a great day! :)**

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 9**

Pinkerton put him through another scan that was more in-depth than usual. He could feel the electricity digging into him deep as it moved through his wires. When the terminal was done with him, it took almost an hour for Harkness to regain control again. Pinkerton scribbled down barely legible notes on his clipboard. He told Harkness to come over in a couple of days; he'd have something for him then. He needed time because they had to do this carefully. Harkness couldn't just cut out or erase things without patching up the seams properly.

If he did that, his system would keep accessing the [NULL], the empty space the erased code would leave behind. It would keep accessing the same empty thing, even though it wasn't there anymore. That was what happened to his tracker. Harkness had ripped it out the moment he was out of the Institute's range and buried it in the sand. For days afterwards, until he reached Pinkerton, his system had kept trying to access it. Not because his system wanted to communicate with it, but because the tracker had been a part of his system. A part of him. And his system recognised the loss.

It had been a week. Harkness still hadn't gone to the bow. But he did feel an acute absence in his chest. Like there already was a [NULL] inside.

In the dimness of the bridge tower, he looked up at the ceiling. It was some minutes before dawn. He hadn't slept in 12 days. He was only lying down because it was routine. Because it was more acceptable to humans if they saw him sleeping. On the other bed, Lana was still in slumber, face smooth and free of worry. She had her fingers twined around the chain she usually hid under her clothes; it belonged to her deceased husband.

Harkness rolled over and placed his bare feet on the floor. 04:23. It was early but he didn't want to stay here anymore. He stood up off the bed. Opening the locker as he did everyday, Butch's shirt greeted him. Clean and off-white, it had stayed folded here almost the same number of days Harkness had spent without sleep. It smelled like the inside of his locker. Like metal and ammo. Like the Abraxo it was cleaned with. It was soft to the touch, like it had been worn over and over. It barely even smelled like Butch anymore. Harkness shut his locker.

The sounds of the ship settling accompanied him all the way to the communal bathroom. It was empty like he expected it to be, but he could smell the traces of cigarette smoke. Might be one of the night shift guards on their rounds. Harkness turned the tap. Faced his reflection in the mirror.

In his vision, he could see the summonses – No. The _notes_. All 15 of them in chronological order. They weren't red, flashing in alarm like the ones from the Institute used to. These were blue like the rest of his system. He understood why the terminal didn't detect them now. They hadn't come from the Institute and they weren't summonses. They were just messages – _notes_ to _Someone Else;_ they weren't meant for him. He was just an outsider. A mistake.

The notes held a different meaning now that Harkness knew that they weren't for him. He had spent time reading and re-reading them, trying to figure out why they had come to him instead, why Butch was sending them over and over. Most of them were questions, asking if anyone was there, if the receipient was getting the messages. The last few had asked Someone Else to come to Rivet City. Had told Someone Else that Butch 'got a problem'. What was that problem? And why couldn't he tell Harkness about it? Each time Harkness offered him help or anything else, Butch would just reject him.

Then again... Harkness didn't tell him anything, did he? About the summonses or otherwise. Anything.

Also, Harkness wasn't Someone Else.

What would Someone Else have done if they received the notes instead? Someone Else would probably reply, answer Butch's every question that Harkness didn't. They would have probably come from wherever they were back to Rivet City for Butch as well. Where was Someone Else anyway?

In the mirror, Harkness watched the water dripping off his skin. He reached up to touch the side of his neck, feeling the wet warmth that was his palm. Flat and wide. He curled his fingers around his neck, touching his pulse, counting its beats.

Was this what Butch felt when he touched him here and pulled him close and called for him? He could feel his pulse race as he thought about him, all the instances of Butch in his system. About how good he had felt pressed on him. His weight and his warmth. The deep smell of his skin, getting stronger as they twisted around on his bed. And Harkness didn't do that. Androids didn't do that without command. Without orders. Without programs. They wouldn't remember the way Butch smirked. The way he breathed. The way he laughed. He didn't know why and how he'd...didn't know if -

"Really, Hark," Lana's sleepy voice came to him. He glanced at her reflection. She was hiding her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawned. "You're moping."

"No." Harkness pulled his hand away from his neck. Turned off the tap.

"Yes, you are."

"Even if I was, I'm still able to do my work."

"I wonder about that sometimes. You're like a machine." Bullshit. She didn't know, did she? Harkness faced her but she was stifling another yawn. He didn't know what to do if he couldn't trust her too. "But you're not one, and that makes it worse," she added, pointing at him. "You know, I understand if you need time off."

"I don't."

"I'm sure the ship won't mind." She smiled that teasing, knowing smile but it was less infuriating now. It made him ache inside seeing it. Made him feel so... lost.

"Lana, I fucked up," he blurted out. He did, didn't he? Lana went to him. Squeezed his shoulder.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked. He didn't know what to say. It was illogical, wasn't it? He was still holding on to this other end of the link, waiting for... For what, exactly? Was it selfish that he hadn't cut the connection like he said he should? But... to cut it now, when Butch wasn't around... it was like... he'd be cutting the only, last connection he had with him. "I guess you are human after all. Machines don't fuck up, do they?" Lana gave him a reassuring smile.

"What do you call a 'malfunction', then? An 'error'? A 'glitch' -" She smacked his shoulder.

"Doesn't count." Then she let go and disappeared into one of the cubicles behind him.

Probably, he should ask Pinkerton to cut this after all. It wasn't fair to the both of them like this. And Someone Else, of course. Harkness reached for his razor -

Electricity surged through him. Jolted up his back. It buzzed static in his head -

**05:43**_******. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};  
**_**sorry**

His pulse stuttered. He was aware that the razor had clattered to the floor. But all he saw were the words in his vision. _Butch? _

Another burst of static grabbed him. Just as strong as the first. It raced to the forefront of his system. Pushed its way in and clutched him.

_******05:44. SUMMON: sys{A3-21};  
**_**i cant come back**

Bullshit. _No. _

He wanted to reach out but he couldn't even _touch_ the connection.

Then just like that, the static dissipated. It fizzled away without any residue. And he was staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes wide. The words were still fresh in his sight. Blue like the rest of his system and this..._fuck_.

Harkness yanked on his clothes. Buckled his armour across his chest. Strapped on his rifle. Behind him, Lana stepped out of the cubicle.

"Hark?" she asked, seeing that he was already dressed and ready to go. "What are you -"

"I need time off."

It was cold outside as he rushed to the bow, his footsteps slapping on the ground. He banged on the door. Called out for Pinkerton. Over and over. The frantic knocking didn't stop until he heard the lock mechanism whirring.

"Doctor Pinkerton," he greeted the moment the door swung open.

"Oh, it's you." The doctor nodded at him. "You're finally here. I found out a way -"

"Where is he?" Harkness demanded.

"The kid?" Pinkerton raised both eyebrows. "I told you a week ago. He left -"

"Where did he go?" The scientist scowled up at him and was about to protest when he paused. He tensed up.

"I'll show you the map," Pinkerton said, turning around fast. "Keep up, android," he called, marching ahead of Harkness. They entered his lab where a map of the Wastes was laid out on the table. "Here." Pinkerton jabbed at a spot on it. Harkness could see words that were struck through – and Butch's handwriting that spelled out 'Not 101'. His system took in all this information, coordinates and landmarks, scanning the map in haste. Next to him, the scientist was cracking his knuckles in an unconscious gesture. Harkness headed out, Pinkerton following close.

"Doctor, keep your door open," he instructed. Pinkerton didn't respond. Harkness crossed the path out of the bow. When he looked back, Pinkerton was still standing in the doorway.

Harkness faced the Wastes.

He started running.


	11. Chapter 10

**Hello, once again. Since the story started, I've received comments about who the mysterious sender of the messages was. Some of the guesses were spot on, but I couldn't give the answer away too soon. You were right. It was Butch. Thank you for figuring it out. I'm sorry I didn't acknowledge that earlier. Kudos to you! :D **

**Anyway, thank you for reading. :) I really appreciate it. **

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 10**

He hadn't stopped running. Sand and mud splattered his clothes. Irradiated water soaked through the bottom of his pants. There had been hostiles chasing him some time ago. Raiders. Dogs. Yao guais. He didn't know where they were now. He couldn't care less about them. He'd rather not stop for anything else until he reached his destination. His system had provided him with several routes but the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. And Harkness was following that line.

09:57. His system informed him that he had reached the checkpoint. Surrounded by a cluster of tall rocks, his system indicated that this was where Pinkerton had pointed out on the map. This was where Butch had called 'Not 101'. There were no landmarks in sight. No buildings. Just rocks. His system insisted he was at the right place. Harkness trekked around the formations, searching for any sign or marker; anything. There was nothing. He was wasting time. This was taking too long. He jogged around the perimeter. It was 10:12 when he found it.

The wooden door was carved into the cliffside, framed by overhanging rock. There was dust on its panes; it didn't look like anyone had passed through it. Peering through the cracks, Harkness could make out some shapes in the darkness. He could hear a breeze whistling through the holes in the door. He grasped the handle, and with one last look behind him, he pushed the door open. It creaked as it moved on its hinges. Afternoon light spilled across the ground. He stepped inside. Closed the door. The sunlight was blocked out again. It took a second for his vision to kick in, to adjust to the darkness. Those shapes he had seen were actually furniture backed up against the wall. He saw a broken pram. A trolley cart. An old school desk. A skeleton of a molerat. There had been something living in here; an empty nest of eggshells was left in the corner. Something scuttled to his right but nothing attacked him.

Was Butch really here?

Harkness pulled out his rifle. Checked that the safety is off. He continued down the passage.

It was a cave. The walls were rock, covered with fungus. It looked like the passage was drilled right into the cliffside. Harkness would've started running again but he had no idea where this path would lead. Had no idea what he would encounter here. Two minutes of walking and he could finally see the vault ahead.

Its gear-like shape was huge. Intimidating. '106' was painted in the middle; it had faded with time. The gear was made of heavy, impenetrable metal. Vaults were constructed to keep the bombs out. To keep the Wastes out. To keep the inhabitants safe from the outside. Was this Vault even accessible? But if it wasn't, why did Butch come here?

Harkness stopped in front of the entrance. Next to the door was a machine, rusted along its base and edges. On its panel, a red light was blinking. There were spots on its screen that were devoid of sand and dust, spots where fingers had picked the dirt off; someone had been here recently. Harkness pulled down the lever attached to the machine. It obeyed him, giving in without any resistance. The red light dimmed. A green light next to it lit up.

All of a sudden, a loud siren filled the air, wailing in the passage. Harkness held out his rifle, eyes darting around him as he backed away from the door. The huge gear retreated, producing a tinny screech as metal slid against metal. Clouds of dust blew out between the gaps. With a loud rumble, the gear rolled to the left, screeching for one last time. Through the dust cloud, he could see that the vault was open. How...? When the dust settled, Harkness took a step forward. And stopped.

The first sight of the Vault's interior made his anxiety mount.

This place was a mess. There were dark-coloured stains on the walls and floor. Every surface was covered with dirt and grime. Even the lights; they were amber, bathing the place in a sickly yellow-red as though it was in the midst of chaos. It was like there had been an alarm sounding as accompaniment at one time, and the sound had died out.

What happened here? The scene didn't resemble any picture of vaults that he had seen. Didn't add up to any information he had about the vaults. Vaults were supposed to be clean, safe. All bright lights and non-irradiated water. This looked nothing like a vault. Had raiders already infiltrated this place? Where was everyone? This place looked abandoned.

He wanted to call out to see if anyone was here. But judging from the state the place was in, he doubted it was a good idea. It was so quiet. His first step inside sounded so loud in contrast. The silence weighed down on him; it was a pressure inside his head.

He could smell decay. It was similar to how the Wastes smelled, only worse. This was a compact, compressed, musty stench. His system detected something else underneath the usual air components. A small percentage of gas he couldn't identify. An_ anomaly._ He didn't know what it was but his system confirmed that it wasn't a threat to him. That wasn't his priority right now. Harkness walked on, gripping the rifle tight.

Up a short flight of steps, there was an open door; it was the only way to go from here. Through it, he could see two other doors. Both shut. One of them was misaligned, a shelf wedged in its side. There was no way he was entering that. The other door was labeled with '_106. WARNING. Hydraulic Hatch. 3300 lbs Pressure_'_._ There was no doorknob or handle for him to turn. On the wall next to the door, he could see a panel. It resembled a keycard sensor like those he'd seen in the Institute but it wasn't that. It had a button protruding out from it. Seeing no other option, Harkness pressed the button.

Immediately, the door opened. It shot up into a cavity overhead in a clean motion. Smooth and efficient. He was greeted by a short hallway leading to another door. This hallway was decorated with more of those dark stains. These ones spanned over three walls, the floor and the ceiling. On the floor where the spatters had radiated from, there was a larger stain that had spread out into a pool. Footprints had crossed it; he could see distinct toe depressions in the reddish brown. No dead body. Harkness walked to the door. He pressed the button on the panel. The door opened, its motion just as smooth as the previous door's.

There was yet another hallway. Two stairs leading downwards flanked the corridor. His system added another level to the map of Vault 106 it had been creating as he progressed. How big was this place? Harkness neared the downward path to the left -

Something shuffled.

He paused on the edge of the stairs. He looked behind him through the door he'd just passed. No one there. No one down the flight of steps. He waited, armed and ready. Five minutes passed. Nothing stirred. Silence. It might have been just the vault settling, like the way Rivet City settled sometimes. He climbed down.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned a corner into a corridor. This corridor was much longer than the previous ones he passed. It wasn't any cleaner. He stepped around a cone that stood in the middle of the path. There was furniture piled up in front of every open door on each side. They were arranged to lie down on their sides as though they were meant to be barricades. He took cautious steps, peering into the doorways to search for clues. As he passed by the second barricade, he saw pair of legs sticking out of one of the open doors. Those legs were covered in the same blue hue of Butch's jumpsuit. Those feet had the _same boots Butch had -_

No. _No._

Harkness bolted to him. He saw dark hair in disarray on the floor. A hand curled around a blade. The open collar of the jumpsuit framed a gaping hole in his chest. Blood. So much blood. His skin was pale. Lifeless. Dead.

Not Butch.

Harkness felt his knees buckle in relief as he held on to the doorjamb. He took a moment to calm the panic, before he looked down at the body again.

The person had probably been a Vault 106 inhabitant. He had bared his teeth in death, like he had been smiling in his last moments as he bled out. The knife was covered in blood. What happened here? Had he stabbed someone? Had he done that to himse-

The cone behind him toppled. Harkness turned around -

And dodged the bat swinging at him. It whizzed past his ear. By reflex, he raised his rifle. Pulled the trigger. Bullets flew towards his attacker - towards a familiar _blue and black blur – _What the hell was he doing? He released the trigger. And his attacker leapt onto him. Jammed the bat against his throat. The rifle clattered to the floor as Harkness reached up, feeling the wood dig into his neck. His throat was being crushed. His attacker strangled him, yanking the bat back, wheezing laughter in his ear. Harkness staggered with the force hanging onto him. With strength, he hauled the person off him. Launched him across the corridor. His attacker barelled into one of the barricades. Fuck. He hadn't meant to – He coughed. He couldn't work his voice. He took a step to the fallen man. His attacker sprang up.

And he saw that it wasn't Butch. The man smiled at Harkness. A manic, crazed grin that stretched wide across his face. His pupils were dilated, the surrounding whites of his eyes red. The man was... he seemed strung out. He was bleeding from his thigh; there was a piece of metal jutting out of his flesh but he didn't seem fazed at all by his injuries. Harkness was about to call out to him when the man screamed. An ear-piercing, shrill sound that filled the corridor. Then he dashed – And ran headlong into the wall. What the hell? Harkness could hear the dull crack of his skull upon impact. The man collapsed onto the floor in a blue heap.

Bullshit. Harkness hurried to him. On the back of his jumpsuit, Harkness could see the '106' label just like on the vault door. Harkness turned him over. The man's eyes were wide open. Manic grin frozen on his face in death. Just like the other dead vault dweller.

Harkness let go of the corpse. Took a step back. What the hell was going on? What made them... What would possess anyone to – Were the vault dwellers ingesting chems?

He had to find Butch fast.

Harkness scanned the corridor. No one else around. He noticed the bullets embedded in the wall. They were his bullets. Harkness collected his rifle. Stared at its heaviness in his arms. Then, he replaced it onto his back. Everyone here wore that same blue jumpsuit Butch did. The same Vault-issue boots he did. Harkness definitely wasn't going to risk accidentally shooting at Butch...

...if he ever found him.

Harkness glanced at the dead vault dwellers. With careful steps, he traversed the Vault.


	12. Chapter 11

**Hello, everyone. :) Thank you for reading. I appreciate it. **

* * *

**Echo**

**Chapter 11**

The deeper Harkness got inside the vault, the more devastating the findings. The walls seemed darker, more foreboding. Ammo littered the floor. There were knives and swords strewn about. Dried up gore on the wall. More dead vault dwellers; he couldn't tell how they had died. It was like this place had ruined, decayed just like the Wastes had.

In the living quarters, he found the doors to all rooms open. He could see the destruction they were in. Someone had left the radio on, tuned to static. The person listening to it on the bed was unmoving, face turned to the wall. Harkness didn't disturb him as he passed. A projector had been left switched on. It threw a flickering image of the vault boy mascot onto a torn screen hanging from the ceiling. He found two vault dwellers on the floor there locked in an embrace. Both were dead; dried blood crusted under their noses. They lay in a ring of white powder. Upon closer inspection, he realised that the powder was actually ceramic pieces. In a corner, coffee mugs lay shattered. Like someone had jumped or danced on them and broke them into tiny fragments, into powdered ceramic.

He saw photographs. On tabletops, counters, hanging on the walls. Ripped up in pieces on the floor. They showed scenes of vault life, like how he imagined vault life was supposed to be. Happy family portraits. Birthday parties and weddings. The people in the photographs smiled at the camera. Happy, content smiles. Not the crazed grins he'd seen. Not like the one the skeleton sitting at the dining table was wearing as Harkness flipped through the photographs. These photos showed a living place. Showed life. He couldn't see any sign of it in the vault now. Even the bulletin boards were tainted; someone had practised fingerpainting with blood over the posters for singing lessons and poker nights.

He found a note about a forgetful cat and a love mist. It reminded him that 'walls needed love' too. He found a poem in another room worded in gibberish. He found a journal; most of its pages were torn out. One of the entries labeled: E6/24/3, talked about the air being 'different'. About it tasting 'blue'. He couldn't make any sense of it.

Peering into one of the open doors, he discovered that it was a computer room. It used to be one, rather. The room looked like it hadn't been utilised for a very long time. The computers and their desks were stacked up against the wall. The terminals were unplugged and disconnected. They were covered in a layer of filth. What was it Butch wanted here? If information or records were what he was looking for, it was obvious that he wouldn't get any here. Harkness was growing more anxious with every open door, every dim corridor and not seeing any hint of the barber. He took a deep breath. Continued his journey.

Two levels down, he found the door that led to the science wing. His system added it onto the map it had created in his head, providing him with a marked route back to the entrance. He entered the science wing, eight flights down from the entrance. That same amber light greeted him. That same heavy silence had permeated throughout the vault.

Through one of the windows that faced the hallway, Harkness could see into a lab. It looked like a science lab had been thriving here before this destruction happened. Big machines stood, touching the ceiling with its height. Supercomputers leaned against the walls. It would've been impressive if the lab was still in operation. It would've rivalled the Science Lab in Rivet City. Harkness pressed the button on the panel. The door slid open. He took a step into the room, his footsteps loud in the silence -

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," someone sang. The voice bounced off the walls, echoing in the hallway.

Harkness paused in the doorway. He looked out into the empty corridor. Aborted his intention to enter the room. He let his fingers trail over the stock of the rifle on his back, just to check that it was there. Surveying the area, he couldn't see anyone. Couldn't hear anything else past this thick silence. No footsteps. It meant that whoever it was, wasn't moving. His system estimated that the source of the voice came from around the corner, 12 metres ahead of him. With cautious steps, Harkness headed there. He kept close to the wall, sliding his palm on the metal with each step. He leaned out as he reached the corner.

There was nobody here. No indication that there'd been anyone-

Someone shoved him. Harkness caught himself from falling. He could hear a slice in the air. And then there was a sharp sting in his cheek. A flash of heat. A burn. Fuck.

He whirled around. Shoved the man away. The man stumbled back. He saw the gas mask first, covering his attacker's face, a crack in the left lens. The black bag around him swayed as he moved. The man was wearing a leather jacket. Harkness paused. He recognised it. He recognised the jumpsuit. The man's build. His hair. And that switchblade... The man straightened up.

"Take his face off," the man snarled at him, voice nasal and muffled by the mask. He stalked to Harkness. His feet; they didn't make a sound. He moved as though he was used to sneaking in this silence. Harkness stepped back, watching the blade get tossed from one hand to the other. A fast, fluid motion. Skilful. "Take it off or I'll cut it off you."

"My face? I ca-" The man slashed at Harkness. Harkness dodged. The blade missed his chin. "Why don't you take your mask off first?" he demanded.

"No way," the man growled. Then he arched his arm. Thrust the blade out - Harkness ducked. The man swung again. Harkness jumped back. Avoided the next stabs aimed at his face. Harkness' shoulder hit the wall. _Shit._ In front of him, the man raised his arm, blade down. He swung-

Harkness grabbed that arm. Twisted them around. Slammed the man into the wall. He heard the blade drop to the floor. The man grunted in pain. He elbowed Harkness' chest. It shocked the currents in him off-course. Harkness staggered back, clutching his armour. A fist came at him. He grasped it. Shoved the man into the wall again with a resounding bang. As fast as he could, he yanked the gas mask off.

_Butch. _

Alive. His system stuttered. He felt a surge of relief to see him. The mask had left an imprint around his eye socket. A purplish bruise had formed on his swollen lower lip.

"Get off," Butch roared. Kicked. Struggled against him. Harkness pinned him harder to the wall.

"Calm down," Harkness said in what he hoped was a calming manner. His chest ached. "Butch-"

"Fuck you." Butch bucked, trying as hard as possible to hurt him, to lash out at him. "You ain't foolin' no one with his face, you piece of shit."

"It's really me," Harkness pressed. He forced Butch to look at him. "It's... tin man," he finished, his throat closing at the term.

"Yeah, right," Butch spat. "He doesn't live in a fuckin' vault."

"Neither do you." Butch stopped struggling. For the first time, he looked at Harkness. Eyes darted around his face.

"...Tin man?" he called in a whisper. Harkness loosened his grip. As soon as he took his hand off his jacket, Butch grabbed a buckle on his armour. Butch inhaled a sharp breath. Then another one. He stared at Harkness like he hadn't seen him in a long time. It felt like more than the seven days since Harkness had seen Butch. Butch mumbled a wordless sound and pulled him close. So close that Harkness could feel his hot breath fanning across his cheek. It was different from that look he gave Harkness when he left. This one was more like when he was -

Butch pushed him away.

"What the fuck are you doin' here? You're gonna get yourself killed," he accused. What the hell? Harkness was about to say that Butch was the one who called when it struck him that... Butch hadn't called him, had he? Those notes he sent weren't for Harkness. They were for Someone Else. Harkness hadn't erased the connection yet.

"Does it matter?" Harkness bit out. Butch ignored him.

"Don't you know Vault kids are crazy?"

_Crazy._ Fuck.

"Are you alright?" Harkness demanded. It was a redundant question. He already knew the answer. Butch had just tried to attack him. Had just told him to 'take his face off'. Butch was far from alright. Harkness observed the dark, dilated pupils, black bleeding into the blue of his irises.

"Sure, I'm fine," Butch said, annoyed. "My tongue's kinda..." He shrugged. "I mean all this..." he said, fluttering his fingers in a waving motion. "Everythin's blue." Bullshit. Harkness eyed the amber light that bathed the walls. There was no hint of blue anywhere. Butch smacked his chapped lips. "Air tastes funny too..." Something twisted inside Harkness.

"...blue?" Butch frowned up at the ceiling.

"...yeah. Yeah. Tastes kinda blue." Fuck. That _anomaly_.

"We have to get you out of here."

"What? We can't get out," Butch said. "My map's gone to hell. And they keep changin' the walls. " Harkness turned away to get ready to leave. He picked up the Toothpick still on the floor. Why didn't Butch pick it up? The Tunnel Snake hadn't moved from where he was still leaning against the wall, where Harkness had pinned him. "I don't know where the fuckin' exit is..."

"I do." Harkness faced him. "Let's go -"

"_We can't!_" Butch yelled. Harkness stilled. He watched as Butch wound his fingers in his hair. Released a shuddering breath. His hands were shaking.

"Butch?"

"We can't leave," he said again, voice breaking. He raised his eyes and they were glazed over and red-rimmed. "We are born in the vault, we live in the vault, we die in the vault," he said in monotone. It sounded like he was repeating something he had heard before. He sounded so lost. He looked so lost. Like he was... in pain.

Harkness reached out. Pulled a hand out of Butch's hair. Curved his palm against the side of Butch's neck. And just held him. Harkness could feel the hitch of his breath. Feel the beginnings of a scruff along his jaw. Feel his warmth. Harkness kept him close. He held him like that until Butch's eyes darkened as they stared back at him. Until Harkness could read clarity in them. Until Butch breathed in sync with Harkness. Long, deep breaths in the space between them.

"Trust me," he said and it was more of a command than anything. Butch sucked in another long breath... and relaxed, his shoulders slumping. Slowly, his lips formed into a smirk, _his usual_ smirk as he tipped his chin up. It tugged something in Harkness' chest to see it on his face again.

"Okay, tin man," Butch breathed. Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in Harkness' arms.


	13. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the late chapter. I was caught up in some things in work+RL. Thank you for reading and for your comments. :) Hope you're having a good day. **

**Edited. Thank you HolyToledo!**

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 12**

Butch just sagged against him, his legs folding underneath. Eyes shut. Lips parted. A_ dead weight_ falling on his chest. "Butch," Harkness called, catching him, shaking him. His head lolled backwards. "_Butch._" No response. He wedged his thumb into Butch's pulse point, feeling rapid heartbeats. Too fast to be normal. They had to leave now.

He yanked Butch's bag off. Wound it around his waist. He strapped on Butch's holster, with pistol intact, around his own thigh. Bending down, he cradled Butch to himself. Then, as careful as he could, he hoisted Butch up. Spread his unresponsive body and adjusted his weight across his shoulders. Harkness held on to his wrist. So that he could feel the life still thrumming there. So that he'd know he wasn't too late to bring Butch back. _He wasn't too late, dammit. _

He forced his system into alert, legs following the path it had marked out for him. On his back, Butch jostled. Harkness caught him before he slipped off. Steadied him. This... This was going to take time. Time they didn't have. Fuck. Bullshit. Harkness started to make his way back. He trudged past the _dead_ bodies, the _dead_ rooms, the _dead _quiet. He ignored all of it. All but the weight on his shoulders. Unresponsive. Unmoving.

At the threshold of Vault 106, he paused, the silence pressing in on him. He looked over his shoulder. The stains and the amber walls stared back at him. Its thick, cloying smell still clung to him, wrapped around his armour. And that _anomaly_. He could pick it out now, its scent whispering in the air. Harkness crossed the threshold. When he passed the door mechanism, he pushed up the lever. The gear-like door screeched as it moved back into place, sealing up the vault once again. He pushed the lever further still, to jam it up. _To keep the Wastes out. To keep the inhabitants safe from the outside. _And vice versa.

The warm night air blew at them as he carried Butch through the wooden door at the end of the passage. For the first time, the Wastes smelled fresh. Smelled more alive than 106 did. Smelled cleaner even though radiation contaminated everything out here. Eyes far out in the distance, Harkness kept the same agonising pace. _They'd reach Rivet City soon_, he heard himself say. On his back, Butch wasn't listening. Harkness didn't let go of him.

It was 4 hours 58 minutes 17 seconds later when the ship loomed ahead. By then, everything in him was tight with tension. Strung out with worry. This had taken too long. He didn't know if Butch - Harkness sped up, his footsteps slapping on the metal path instead of sand and dirt. The door to the bow swung open as he neared and Pinkerton appeared, a dark silhouette in the light. There was no greeting. Just a silent acknowledgement of Harkness' return, of Butch's form draped over him. Pinkerton's lips pursed to a grim line.

"What happened?" Pinkerton demanded, rushing ahead.

"He passed out," Harkness told him. Jogging now. Almost safe now. "He was hallucinating...There's an anomaly in the air."

"Where's the gas mask?"

"It's cracked."

"Goddammit."

Inside, the lab was set up for their arrival. A cot was wheeled out, surrounded by machines. A heart monitor. A defibrillator. An x-ray machine. It looked like the way it did when A3-21 came to Pinkerton for help. Harkness disentangled Butch from his shoulders. With care, he lowered the unconscious form onto that same cot he had lain down on once, a long time ago. The sight of Butch's shuttered face stabbed something in his chest. Butch's eyes were still closed, his hair a mess over his forehead. His skin was paler now, dark shadows more prominent under his eyes. And when Harkness touched his pulse again, he could still feel the warmth even though Butch looked like...

He had to get Preston. Marching back to the entrance, Harkness opened the door only to see the doctor already walking up the path with Lana.

"Saw you coming," Lana explained, without waiting for his questions. He felt a rush of gratitude that he couldn't express, words tangling up with the anxiety caught his throat. Lana squeezed his shoulder, gave him a sad, reassuring smile and left to return to Rivet City.

"Where is the patient?" Preston asked him, alert and in doctor mode. Harkness led him into the bow, past Butch's room and into Pinkerton's lab. At the door, he halted again, his eyes falling on Butch. His stomach squeezed itself.

"Doctor Pinkerton," Preston greeted, respect and surprise clear in his voice. "It's been a long time."

The scientist lifted his face from where he was looking down at the terminal. "Preston," he said. "Still a doctor I see," the scientist remarked as he eyed Preston's lab coat. There was recognition in his gaze, some kind of familiarity in his tone when he talked to Preston. "Pleasantries later, doctor." Pinkerton pointed at Butch. "Can we do something for the kid?"

"Of course." Preston put his doctor's bag on the desk and opened it. He took out his stethoscope and a small flashlight. Clicking the flashlight on, Preston peeled back Butch's left eyelid and shone the light into it. Harkness looked away. He couldn't watch this. Couldn't watch Butch take this without a fight or protest. Couldn't watch Butch being this... _passive_.

Something tugged onto his waist and he looked down to see Butch's bag in his grip. His fingers were clenched tight around a corner of it, nails digging into the material. He released it. The moment Preston rolled on his latex gloves, Harkness left the lab, closing the door behind him. As he released the door handle, he stared out into the emptiness of the bow. He walked to Butch's room, taking the key ring Butch had clipped onto the bag strap. He knew which key it was that opened his door; he'd seen Butch use it. He remembered its grooves, the nick in the flat part near the head of the key. Harkness pushed it into the lock and turned it.

His steps faltered at the sight of the empty room. It knocked all the memories back to him. The first step in here, the many steps out and everything in between. It was so quiet now. So empty. It shouldn't be like this. The room was drenched with Butch's presence yet he wasn't here. Slowly, Harkness peeled off each trace of Butch from his body. He placed the black bag on the high table. Unstrapped the holster around his thigh and draped it over a stool. Harkness pulled out the Toothpick from his pocket. It was heavy in his hands. Butch hadn't felt heavy in his arms. He walked further inside, to put the blade onto the desks on the far wall. Then, he paused.

That... It _was _his shirt, wasn't it?

It was hanging from a hanger, hooked onto the edge of the desk. There was another empty hanger hanging from the same hook in front of it. Harkness recognised the fray in its hem, the hole in the seam on its collar, its colour faded grey. Resting the Toothpick on top the desk, he brushed his fingers along his shirt, feeling a spark of familiarity at this touch. It was clean. It didn't look out of place here. Just like Butch's shirt didn't look out of place in his locker. He didn't know what to make of that – only something tightened in his chest at the thought. As he stepped back, his eyes drifted to his reflection in the mirror.

There was a red mess on his cheek. Blood. _Synthetic_ blood. It had trailed down, tracing his jawline. Harkness reached up. Swiped his fingers over it. It was dry on his fingertips. Crusted over the wound on his cheek.

Right.

Butch had cut him in 106. He had forgotten about it – No. He didn't. He just... had pushed it down his list of priorities. Taking care of it wasn't important then. He wasn't sure if it was important now.

Once again, he entered the corridor, feeling restless and _useless_. Helpless. Letting the water run, he washed his face in the kitchen sink, his system working to soothe his aches and patch up his injuries. He rubbed the blood off his cheek. With the pad of his thumb, he could make out a slit in the flesh; it was thin at the entrance and wider where the blade had left his skin. It was a precise cut. Meant to hurt. Meant to harm. What had happened to make Butch attack him like that? What did he see?

The sound of the lab door opening wrenched him from his thoughts.

"I'll get my tools. More antiseptic," Preston was saying as he walked out with Pinkerton close on his heels. "But I think... This is risky, Horace. It's a _fracture_." Fracture? Butch had a fracture?

"You've done this before," Pinkerton said, impatience thinning his voice. "We fixed Holmes' broken arm."

"Yes, I have, but back then, we had the proper metals to treat fractures. We can't just use any scrap metal we find in the Wastes. You know that."

"This is a different kind of metal." Pinkerton glanced at Harkness as he said that. Preston nodded in response. He nodded at Harkness too before he walked back the way he came, leaving Harkness and Pinkerton there in a bubble of increasing silence.

"I need your help," Pinkerton said.

Downstairs, the overhanging lamp lit up when the scientist pressed the switch on the wall. The brightness revealed the storage area with its shelves lined from wall to wall. The floor was dry and the bathroom off to the side was dark. Before Butch moved in, this downstairs area used to be a nest for Mirelurks. Harkness had had to battle the creatures off before the place could be drained. He remembered that Butch had gotten into the fight as well, despite being told to stay out of the way. Now, the open doorways were blocked with sheet metal soldered into place. Butch had told him once, that sometimes he could still hear 'Mirelurks havin' parties' behind the blocked walls. Harkness couldn't hear anything now, just water sloshing.

Pinkerton weaved in and out between the shelves, pausing at times to read the labels on the crates. This was a library of miscellanous things. There were cans of food on one shelf. Sundries on another. Scraps of cloth and metal everywhere. Harkness could see boxes labeled with Butch's handwriting: 'Pinky's crap #1', 'Pinky's Crap #2', 'More Pinky's crap'. Pinkerton peered up at those boxes like he was seeing more than just those vague names, like he knew exactly what was inside them.

"That one," he said, pointing at the box on the top shelf on the right. Harkness raised his hands, reaching up for the crate labelled as 'Pinky's shiny stuff'. Its top was covered with a sheet of yellowed canvas. Harkness brought it down, hearing the metal inside _chink_ against each other. Pinkerton unfolded the canvas.

It was indeed a different kind of metal that greeted them. Not the scrap metal that Pinkerton had made Butch find. This metal was a shiny, silver-white. Lightweight and strong. Low density. Lustrous. Non-corrosive. Harkness knew its properties well. Because it was the metal he was made of.

"You recognise it, don't you?" Pinkerton asked. Harkness didn't reply. "As you've heard, the kid broke his ankle." Fuck. So that _was_ true. How the hell had Butch been walking earlier? How did he attack Harkness like that? Like he didn't feel anything, any pain? Had the 'blue' numbed it all? _Fuck. _"Never thought I'd have to use this," Pinkerton continued, pulling out a small transparent, plastic bag from the box. Inside the bag was a thin, flat, rectangular metal plate of some kind, with holes drilled through. There were screws too, clinking as they moved around in the bag. "This is more than suitable to keep the bone together as it heals."

Pinkerton straightened up. Glancing at Harkness with a silent demand to place the crate back onto the shelf, the scientist climbed the stairs with purposeful steps. When Harkness returned to the kitchen later, there was no sign of Pinkerton but the door to the lab was wide open. Peering inside, the first thing Harkness saw were the privacy screens that now surrounded the cot. Harkness circled the screens -

And there Butch was. A mask covered his nose and mouth to aid his breathing. Butch had been stripped down to his shorts and _his exposed skin_... His naked torso was decorated with bruises, angry red and purple shapes on his skin. They curved around his ribs. Spread over his hip bone. Swelled on his forearm and his knee. His right foot was raised on top of a stack of books and bound in a wrap.

This... Harkness took a deep breath. There was a pain in his chest that was just... He should've... This shouldn't have happened. He should've found Butch sooner. Should have followed him the first step he took away from Harkness and dragged him back.

"How... is he?" Harkness asked no one, his voice sounding foreign to him. Muted. Hoarse. He was dimly aware that the scientist was approaching him but Harkness didn't take his eyes off Butch.

"Severely exhausted. Dehydrated," Pinkerton answered. "Unconscious." Pinkerton set the pressure cooker he was carrying onto his desk with a bang. He checked on Butch's vitals. "I sent him to Vault 106 to get some records," Pinkerton confessed. "I suggested it to him some time ago. He's always refused to go." Harkness had been the one to push Butch to go, hadn't he?

They both listened to the beeps from the heart monitor. His system noted every tick of a second that had passed where he had done nothing but wait. Done nothing but stand here. Pinkerton's derisive snort broke the silence.

"This is why I set up traps," he said. Callous. Biting. Harkness felt himself bristle. He faced Pinkerton, ready to confront him, to demand him to show compassion - but the words died on his lips. The scientist had laid a hand on Butch's head. In a gentle gesture, he pushed Butch's hair off, away from his forehead. Carefully. Tenderly. Pinkerton sighed, then. A tired, weary sound. He looked... old. Sad. _Human_.

"...will he be alright?" Harkness asked.

"Let's hope so."


	14. Chapter 13

**Hello, all. Hope you are doing fine as you read this. Thank you so much for waiting. I know I took a long time with this. I apologise. Had RL stuff to deal with and I was working on my Fallout Big Bang entry as well. Thank you for reading. I truly appreciate it. :) **

* * *

**Echo**

**Chapter 13**

3 minutes 48 seconds more before his shift ended. His cigarette was almost down to the butt. Harkness wasn't sure if he had been smoking or merely letting it burn out between his lips. Taking it out, Harkness dropped it over the railing and into the water far below. Above, the sky had darkened. He watched now as firelight from his lighter flickered on his skin while he lit up another cigarette.

He had spent most of the day out here on the bridge, leaning on the railing, staring out at the Wastes, looking at absolutely nothing. Everything was just so... stagnant. There was this heaviness that weighed down on everything in him and... He could feel the ache spread again across his chest. He quelled it. Swallowed the uneasiness. Took the thoughts away from his head. They wouldn't help. Wouldn't change anything.

19:29. The door behind him swung open.

Lana stepped out of the city to relieve him of duty and Harkness dropped the cigarette into the water. When he turned to face her, she gave him a small smile. She didn't say anything but took his shoulder in her hand, just offering a piece of comfort. That brush of warmth made him inhale a deep breath of air uncontaminated by smoke. It made him feel...a little better. A little worse. She knew that he wasn't here where his body was. He was faraway, across from them at the bow. This was her telling him it was alright as she cupped his shoulder. _It was going to be alright._ He nodded at her and glanced at the space where her chain was hidden underneath her clothes. When she let him go, Harkness went off-duty. He didn't step inside Rivet City.

He walked the 65 steps across the bridge. Trekked 537 steps down the stairs, over the road, past the memorial bathed in its light. On the last 70 steps that led to the broken bow, the sound of his footsteps accompanied him. Every step that brought him closer to his destination felt simultaneously heavier and lighter.

Harkness turned the handle of the hatch. It was unlocked. The door hadn't been locked since_.._. _since_. He pushed it open. Inside, the room was dim. Empty. The ache threatened to spread again. Harkness squeezed his forearm to distract himself. On the table where Butch used to prop his legs up, the Grognak the Barbarian comic, Bryan Wilks' comic, was still there. Untouched. Harkness caressed the cover, trailing his hand off the page and onto the thin, random grooves in the tabletop; the marks had been done by a switchblade some time ago. Scanning the room one more time, Harkness went around the stairwell and through the corridor. He paused in front of Butch's room. He stood there for a second, just listening, trying to find out if...

_No. _No sounds. Nothing. He felt something dip low in his stomach as he took a last glance at the door and continued his journey. _Nothing had changed._

The kitchen was bright. There was a small pot on the stove, covered partly with a lid. Steam rose from a crack where the pot wasn't covered. He recalled that the only times he saw food in the kitchen was when Butch cooked them. Once, he remembered being offered something called a 'Snake Stew' with no snakes inside it; Butch had told him that it was something for hangovers and he'd done it often in the vault. It was his mother's recipe.

Harkness opened the door. He entered the lab. The privacy screens were still in place. And the image of Butch cooking faded away from his vision. Through the screen, Butch's silhouette was still lying down. He'd been lying down for days. _5 days 20 hours 13 minutes 43 seconds. _

"Horace, this is incredible work," Preston's awed voice flitted down from the second floor to where Harkness was standing. "Perhaps you could -"

"No," was Pinkerton's short reply but there was no unkindness in that. No rudeness.

"And why not? It certainly would help with the purifier."

Harkness closed the door behind him. Upstairs, he heard Pinkerton and Preston pause their conversation. Butch's silhouette still didn't move. The doctor and the scientist looked over the railing at him. Preston greeted him with a "Good evening, Chief Harkness." Pinkerton greeted him with a nod. Then, they returned to their discussion. They talked about the past. About Dr Li. About science and life. About water and the purifier. He had no idea that they had gotten along once. They got along well now.

Harkness tuned out their conversation. Walking around the screens, Harkness was met with the sight of Butch. Still asleep. Hands by his sides. Not moving. Breathing slow. The heart monitor beeped regularly, displaying jagged lines that showed the beats of his heart. Steady. Rhythmic. The mask that had covered his mouth and nose was gone now and Harkness could see how pale Butch was. He let his eyes rest on the bruises that had decreased in size but still had a sickly yellowish, purplish tint. Preston had said they would take some time to heal. The same went for the fracture. Raised on a stack of books, Butch's ankle remained wrapped up. Preston had done everything he could. All that was left, was for Butch to recuperate. Harkness understood all that. It just...

It just wasn't easy looking at him like this. Settling by the cot, Harkness watched him. Waited for him. Just like the day before. The day before that. _Everyday._ It was all he could do. He placed his hands on the edge of the mattress, feeling the faint warmth that radiated to him from Butch's body. The ache was back, swirling up his arms. He had wanted to... touch him. But he wasn't sure how that would do anything.

Footsteps moved towards him.

Glancing to his side, he saw Pinkerton picking up a book from his desk, probably to show off to his new best friend. When he turned, he saw Harkness looking at him. The scientist neared, stopping next to the cot as well. He looked down at Butch. Then, he looked up at Harkness.

"You've never done this before, have you?" Pinkerton asked him with his usual drawl. There was this look on the scientist's face that was curious. Harkness didn't answer. Lifting Butch's right hand, Pinkerton gently rested it atop Harkness' on the cot. The touch was... Butch's hand was warm over his. "That's how you wait for someone," the scientist explained to him. "Harkness," he added. It had always been 'android' or 'A3-21'. Without another word, Pinkerton marched away.

He had no idea how long he stood there looking at their hands. He was mesmerised by the contrast of their skin tones. The fine hairs on the back of Butch's arm. It was bare. No pip-boy here. No notes and messages. No summonses. Just scars on the map of their skin. Finally, Harkness turned his wrist and made their palms meet. It was warmer like this. _Better. _Soothed a little of the ache he felt in his chest. The pulse on Butch's wrist fluttered. He raised his head to look at the heart monitor -

And Butch's eyes were wide open.

"Butch?" The eyes fell on him at the sound of his voice. The last time Harkness had seen them, Butch's eyes were clouded over with confusion and pain. Fear. This time, all he could see was something like... clarity. There was something there that recognised him. Something unguarded. Soft. Vulnerable. Harkness felt buzzes stirring up inside him. Butch's lips parted.

"...Tin man?" he called. His voice was soft, barely a whisper. The blue gaze roamed over his face and his breathing hitched. His lips moved like he was mouthing words. No sound came out. Then, he took a deep breath. "Am I... home?" Something clenched in Harkness' chest at the question.

"You're not in the vault," he told Butch. "You're in Rivet City."

Butch didn't respond. He just stared at Harkness. Stared at him and held him like that with his gaze. Like he was categorising every part of Harkness' face. Harkness felt him shift. Felt his fingers twitch around his. He'd forgotten that he was holding Butch like this, but he didn't take his eyes off the blue ones looking at him. He couldn't. He'd waited for this... For... Butch sighed, sinking into the cot.

"Good," he said. And Harkness watched as he shut his eyes once more and returned to sleep. His fingers tightened around Harkness'. Harkness didn't let go.


	15. Chapter 14

_Thank you very much for reading and for your reviews. I appreciate it. :)_

* * *

**Echo  
Chapter 14**

When he finally unclasped their fingers, Butch made a strangled sound but didn't wake up. He hadn't woken up again after that. Not when Harkness held his hand the next day after his duty. Not the next day. Not the day after that. Pinkerton told him that Butch had indeed woken up twice while he wasn't there. But each time he returned, those eyes were still shut.

Butch's sleep patterns were different now. The way he breathed was different. Calmer. Less measured. Butch was recovering. Even so, it was like he hadn't woken up at all. The feeling of fingers entwined around his own stayed in his hand long after they had left.

Harkness clenched his hands into fists, trying to retain that swirl of warmth from memory. He glanced at the broken bow. Then, he turned to Rivet City. When he reached the entrance, he spun around to start again. His footsteps on the bridge echoed in his ear. _Step step step_. He was on his 105th lap so far. It went on and on but Harkness couldn't seem to stop. He watched the water far below through the holes in the bridge under the soles of his boots, anticipating each time his foot landed to take the next step. In his pocket, the letter from Bonny crinkled while he paced. During his rounds in the city, the barkeep had handed it to him, saying that she'd like to talk to 'Horace' as 'it's been some time' since they did. 'It had been a long time.'

The click of the door opening interrupted his thoughts. Harkness stopped pacing. Looking up, he saw Lana arriving to relief him from duty. She smiled at him as she reached him and stood beside him at the railing of the bridge. The golden tint of the morning sky fluttered at her lashes. She pursed her lips and squinted out at the horizon. Off to the side, the gold outlined the edges of pipes and broken metal sticking out at angles from the broken bow's structure. The other half of this ship. "Aren't you going already?" Lana asked him, voice light, the reassuring, teasing smile on her face. Harkness tried to smile back, but without waiting any longer, he crossed the bridge.

When he opened the door to the bow, he was struck by how quiet it was. For a moment, he faltered. Although he'd done this so many times, opening the door to silence and emptiness, it still got to him. It still made something hurt inside at how nothing had changed in here. He closed the door behind him. He passed the same silence locked behind Butch's door. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. In the kitchen, a kettle sat on the stove. No pots. Nothing had been cooked. Harkness moved to the switch on the wall but found that the door to the lab was ajar.

"Stop that," Pinkerton chastised from inside the lab. The scientist must be arguing with his experiments again. Harkness walked to the door.

"It fuckin' itches, Pinky."

Harkness stopped in his tracks.

_That voice. __Butch. _

"If you - you'll unravel the bandages."

"But it itches…"

He wasn't slurring his words. His voice was clear. Not sleep-roughened. Butch sounded… like himself. Something seized his chest. Harkness focused on the open doorway hearing the voices flit out to him.

"You did bring this upon yourself with your carelessness."

"I ain't care-less," was the vehement reply. "How'd you know, anyway? You weren't there."

"Do _you_ know?" Pinkerton countered with a heavy sigh. "You said you don't remember."

What? Harkness felt tension spread across his shoulders at that. …what did that mean?

"I-" Butch cut himself off. When he spoke again, his tone was deep. "How the hell did I get here, Pinky?"

_Fuck. _

"I've told you that –"

"I know but..." Frustrated now. "Can't remember what the hell happened."

If Butch didn't remember, what now? Would this all be reset? Because before Butch was incapacitated, they had a fight about messages and notes and summonses and one-way conversations.

And then, Butch had left.

And Harkness had brought him back – But Butch didn't remember that.

It…

It didn't matter. He was awake now and that was what mattered. Ignoring the twinge in his chest, Harkness took a deep breath. He shook his right arm against the sudden ache, like the hurt in his chest was pulling at the nerves there as well. Harkness entered the lab.

When he stepped inside, the first thing he saw were the dividers. He saw the silhouette of the cot through the screens. He didn't see Butch's silhouette. Conversation had ceased with his intrusion. Harkness turned into the rest of the lab.

And there Butch was.

Sitting upright on table, he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. His bare feet were dangling off the floor, the injured right ankle covered in the wrap. He was staring straight at Harkness, raising his chin to face him.

"Been wondering when you'd show up," Pinkerton greeted him in his usual disinterested drawl. Harkness took his gaze away from the snake to look at the scientist. There was a hint of a smile on his tired face. Something like relief. Harkness guessed it might be because Butch was indeed awake. Walking towards the scientist, Harkness pulled out the letter from his pocket. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Butch following his steps. He stopped near Pinkerton and took the paper out, offering it to him.

"You've got… mail."

Pinkerton looked at the letter. He frowned, dropping the pencil he was holding onto the table top. After wiping his hand on the front of his overalls, he took the slip of paper from Harkness. He unfolded it. His brows arched as he read the letter's contents. With barely a glance, he walked away, probably to continue reading the letter in private. He left Harkness and Butch with the quiet beeps, whirrs and mechanical humming in the lab.

Turning to him, Harkness saw that Butch hadn't looked away from him. He seemed unmoving but Harkness could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. The bruises that marred his skin were now in between healing and healed, fading patches of yellow on his flesh. While he still had that paleness, some colour had returned to him, washing pink on his cheeks, on his fingertips and his lips. Those eyes, though, they were trained on him. Alert. Like he was suspicious of Harkness. Like he was trying to figure him out. Butch remembered him, didn't he?

It was Butch who looked away first. Running a hand through his hair, he made a soft noise through his nose. The strands of hair flopped back in place without pomade, without any of the gunk he tended to put in it. His hair looked less shiny, flowing shades of dark brown to black across his scalp. It looked soft. Butch gripped onto the edge of the table. With a deep breath, he made about to push himself off the table. Harkness surged forwards. Butch stilled. They_ both_ stilled. Butch paused mid-air and stared up at him.

Harkness' hand was hovering near his bare stomach to try to… He couldn't let Butch hurt himself by landing hard on his injured foot. His naked heat radiated to him, caressing the palm of his hand.

"Crutch," he reminded Butch. His voice didn't betray any of the tension, any of the awkwardness he was feeling. The word sounded loud in this small space between them. Butch licked his chapped lips and looked down his body. He leaned against the edge of the table, resting his weight on his uninjured leg. He eyed Harkness. The blue of his eyes was bright. Clear.

"Doc says I don't gotta use it if I don't need it." The tone of his voice revealed nothing. But the tension was still palpable. The wariness in his gaze remained. "Gotta use my feet whenever I can."

"Doctor Preston?" Harkness confirmed, not knowing what else to say. He lowered his hand, seeing Butch follow its motion with his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Right," Harkness replied. Butch looked up at Harkness from under his lashes like he was trying to decipher him. He glanced away.

"Pinky says you come round to see me." His voice was low. The gaze returned to him. Expectant. Cautious. Guarded.

"Only when I'm not on duty," Harkness confessed. "…sometimes," he lied. Butch raised his chin, eyes roaming over his face now. Harkness took a step back, away from Butch because he was starting to ache. This was starting to hurt. Now that Butch was fine, he looked fine, looked healthier and awake, he supposed… he... this didn't matter anymore. Maybe everything was reset after all. "I'm going back. I have to…" his voice trailed off. He took another step –

Butch grabbed his arm. He had moved away from the desk, to stand on both his feet in effort of stopping Harkness from leaving. There was a protest ready on his lips but it withered away at the gentle touch. Butch cupped his chin, spreading warm fingertips on his skin. He turned Harkness' face, away from him. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traced a line on his left cheek - That scar. Butch was tracing the scar he had given to Harkness in 106.

"So… that did happen," Butch murmured. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Butch's brows knit as he stared at his cheek. They stood there, Butch tracing the scar from entry to exit with shaky fingers then back again and Harkness letting him. He could read distress in Butch's eyes. Something vulnerable. Lost. His eyes were flicking back and forth, like he was seeing other things that were faraway. Like he was _calling_ for someone with his gaze. He sounded like he was panting, gasping on air. Harkness reached up to take his hand, twining their fingers. Facing him now, Butch's eyes darted from the scar to his eyes. To his lips. To the rest of his face. He didn't say anything, just breathed. Harkness could feel his hot breaths on his skin, ghosting over his jaw.

Footsteps echoed outside before entering the lab.

"Ah, I see the patient is up," Preston's friendly voice greeted them. Harkness let Butch go, then. Butch's eyes didn't leave him.


End file.
